"Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. “Those things are arranged more easily in any other country than England. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. Miss Garvice assumed a quality of neutrality, professed herself almost won over by Ann Veronica’s example, and the Scotchman decided that if women had a distinctive sphere it was, at any rate, an enlarging sphere, and no one who believed in the doctrine of evolution could logically deny the vote to women “ultimately,” however much they might be disposed to doubt the advisability of its immediate concession. The big pay strikes them; but when they find there's no place to spend it, good-bye!" Tom the cook came in with the chops and the potatoes—the doctor's dinner— and McClintock fell to with a gusto which suggested that there was still some liver under his ribs.
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