" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. She stuffed her violin in its case and rushed into the hallway towards John, who stood outside of 118 with his arms crossed. “So Mr.
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