"No, lad," said McClintock, his tone becoming kindly. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. . "But you do agitate me so much. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed.
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