It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. “You need have no further trouble. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. ’ ‘That is not your affair. Return to him, I say—" "I can't," replied Jack, doggedly. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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