"Yon's a dear man," said McClintock. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind.
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