” She said under her breath. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. “Can you not understand? It is of no use your taking my identity and all the burden of my iniquities upon your dear shoulders if I am to be recognized the moment I show my face in London. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. I could not dream of loving you. See paragraph 1.
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