\"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. “Your mother was a Gypsy. ‘Yes, I know. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. She forgot her vital hatred of the South Seas; she forgot that McClintock's would not differ a jot from the old island she had for ever left behind her; she forgot all the doctor's lessons and warnings. "I shall do no such thing. Here they would be having lunch. The youth of them! And what was he going to do when they left his island? What would Donald McClintock be doing with himself, when youth left the island, never more to return? Ruth was thrilling with joy. " Half an hour later she laid aside the book.
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