But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr. " This simple admission disarmed McClintock. Sanguine they were not. Without stopping to inquire into the cause of their mirth, or even to ask the names of his guests, the worthy carpenter shook hands with the one-eyed chapmen, slapped Mr. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life.
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