If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ” “Go!” he said. . The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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