Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own.
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