The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. “He’s got good taste, you know. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup.
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