155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. She could still remember herself at age five, staring knives and daggers at the men who came into the small yarn shop, under pretense of business but really just to leer.
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