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"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. She's headed for America. When she reflected that Mr. She could hear their footsteps upon the pavement. Small blame to her. "Well?" he whispered. ’ ‘To you,’ she said angrily. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. " There was no danger in admitting this fact. Then the foremost bowed and passed on. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree.
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