Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. When John’s parents weren’t home, they made love in his bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed —the wardress was too busy with the flood of arrivals that day to discover that she had it down—and her skin was shivering from the contact of these garments.
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