He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. He pulled her from him to kiss her on the mouth and paused, looking into her face. Rather a hazardous spot for a convalescent, and McClintock had been doubtful at first; but Spurlock declared that he was a good sailor, which was true. She was the consummate mother, even when extremely tired, she missed nothing.
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