It was the gallows. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He hated himself a little for it. "You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. " "No, Sir Rowland. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world.
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