She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. I don’t want to know. ‘Very well,’ he said, lowering his own weapon. She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey.
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