She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. "Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. "Oh lord! I hope not. \" She knew he was blushing in the dark. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. The world, perhaps, will be educated out of its idea of fixed standards. ’ The things she said and did from you—seem impossible.
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