She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. The girl nodded sagely. She nodded. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are. " When Spurlock had finished the tale, touched here and there by his own imagination, McClintock made a negative sign. “Listen to me. " "If he had only been my father!—McClintock!" "God didn't standardize human beings, Ruth; no grain of wheat is like another.
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