Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. His scent was like sweet perfume in her state, like the sweet smell of infants. "Did I hear you …" began McClintock. "Good bye!" cried Mrs. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. "Mother, I come to you.
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