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The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. But he reckoned without his host. He was silent. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. "That's a good story, lad. I am up to the ears in it all— every moment I can spare. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. The door to the library burst open. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. “I know. "All right.
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