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The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. ’ She eyed him. But his daughter might well have a claim. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 19:32:32