He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. "We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. McClintock would be on hand to tell her how and where to obtain this freedom. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. You seemed, he thought, to have some grievance which you would not explain and which he thought must arise from a misunderstanding. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me.
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