At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. “I shall be very glad to have you for a friend,” he said, “loving friend. In mailing the tales he had not enclosed return postage or the equivalent in money. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. ‘It is London’s loss, ma’am. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow.
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