“What are you doing?” He cried. She regarded the young man coldly. ” She felt, with a sudden horror, that she might weep. " "They are useless," she returned. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned. She had better escape if she can. . He was not, in truth, much of a ladies’ man.
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