“Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. In the grate were some charred fragments of a marriage certificate. McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. What she did not know, and what she was never to know, was that the divine fire was hers. “Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. As the night advanced, Mr. ’ Kimble frowned direfully, staring at the weapon with its gold hilt and decorative pattern down the blade.
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