The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. F. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. Politely Ah Cum stooped and recovered the photograph. It was clear it must be to-morrow. You can, too, if you wish. You came to see me in the hospital.
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