Teenage boys never change, she thought to herself. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. They sat down in a covered pavilion that housed a grimy picnic table and a dingy fire pit. A woman hard to read, who seemed to delight in keeping locked up behind that fascinating rigidity of feature the intense sensibility which had been revealed to him, her master, only in occasional and rare moments of enthusiasm.
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