’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. " "And what might that be?" "Will McClintock take us both?" "You took that chance. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ” The sensation produced was gratifying enough. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house.
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