I'm going to be frank; we must have a clear understanding. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. So the young fool had not told her! McClintock had suspected as much. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Friday was not a big dinner night at the Beck house. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. \" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles.
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