"Mac, you old son-of-a-gun!" "Got a man's breakfast?" McClintock demanded to know. I hated the stuff. Chapter XXVIII THE HISSING OF “ALCIDE” There was a strange and ominous murmur of voices, a shuffling of feet in the gallery, a silence, which was like the silence before a storm. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica.
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