The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. She was only trying to distract you so that she might escape. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. I don’t care. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. "My demeanour ought to convince you that I came with no hostile intention. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said.
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