Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. Fortunately, I've secured the proof of my birth. I should as soon think of trusting a woman. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely.
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