Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. Tombs were desecrated, beautiful statues toppled, and the colorful shops that she had been enchanted by along the canal had been closed or burned. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. So I packed up and came to London next day.
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