That wrappered life, as you call it—we’ve burned the confounded rags! Danced out of it! We’re stark!” “Stark!” echoed Ann Veronica. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. " And thus their domesticity at McClintock's began—with the tubbing of a stray yellow dog.
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