There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. Here they would be having lunch. ’ ‘Why not?’ Gerald asked straightly. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “If ever you do and I can help you in any way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation—You see, I’m no believer in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there is such a thing as feminine inexperience. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. I had a hunch. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Of course I ought to have some lights over the saloon; but by leaving all the cabin doors open in the daytime, there's plenty of daylight.
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