Chapter XX ANNA’S SURRENDER “This is indeed a gala night,” said Ennison, raising his glass, and watching for a moment the golden bubbles. “Homely?” “Well, yeah, that’s what he said. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. McClintock never threw away any advertising matter; in fact, he openly courted pamphlets; and they came from automobile dealers and great mail-order houses, from haberdashers and tailors and manufacturers of hair-tonics, razors, gloves, shoes, open plumbing.
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