The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. She could not apply it in this instance because she was not sure the application would be correct. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. You are NOT going to that ball!” Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. So here I am, king of all I survey, with a predilection for poker, a scorched liver, and a piano-player.
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