The girl nodded sagely. His own peculiar genius—a miracle key to the hidden things in men's souls—had given him this immediate and astonishing illumination. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He was clearing up these difficulties by tracing a partially obliterated suture the Scotchman had overlooked when the door from the passage opened, and Manning came into his universe. "Where did I hear that before?" "Perhaps that first day, in the water-clock tower. B. He envied her a little.
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