207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. ” She took his hand, interrupting him. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. ” The truth prevailed. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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