At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. " "I wish I could, Joan," returned the carpenter, sadly. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off.
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