“The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. They are born idiots, incurably insane. Light flooded the place. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours. Her sister had told him that it was true.
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