Her heart thudded. "Mac, did you ever run across a missioner by the name of Enschede?" "Enschede?" McClintock stared at the ceiling. She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. “I knew Mr. " The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action.
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