McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. Perhaps the boys had already faced off and he had missed it, he thought sourly. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. "Married!—no—no," replied the woollen-draper. “Really,” she said. "Something's wrong.
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