Your uncle—our uncle is with him. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The asylum was approached by a broad gravel walk, leading through a garden edged on either side by a stone balustrade, and shaded by tufted trees. A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck.
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