She cried out in pain, then in pleasure as he thrust himself into her. All this was the work of a minute. "My enemy," replied her son. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. She would have to leave very soon. This girl was strong and vital: how would she take it when she learned that she had cast her lot with a fugitive from justice? For McClintock was certain that Spurlock was a hunted man.
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