She leaned over and kissed his cheek innocently. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. “I don’t see, Mollie,” he remarked, taking a cigar from the box on the table as his sister and daughter rose, “why you and Vee shouldn’t discuss this little affair —whatever it is—without bothering me. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever.
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