He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. In the first place, Mrs. ‘Not where we’re going. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. The shouts drew nearer, and lights were seen flashing ruddily against the sides and gables of the neighbouring houses. Your mother, for instance, couldn’t. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. "You've got him?" demanded Ireton.
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