"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. If, when he returned, he blew out the light, she would go to bed; but if the light burned on for any length of time, she would go silently to the study curtain to learn if his agony was still upon him.
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