‘You are mad, if you think he will give you a sou. Something seemed awry. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. What more is there to be said? She defies me!” It was extraordinary. “Thank goodness!” said that retreating aspect, “that’s said and over. The door leaned inward.
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