Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. . McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. “With your permission,” he said to Anna, “I shall arrange a bed for him where he is. She helped herself to the remainder of the slightly congealed bacon, and reverted to the problem of getting her luggage out of the house. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. I have come to you for sympathy, perhaps for help. But underneath this tolerance there is always the vague hope that your manhood will someday reassert itself. "He's here.
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