He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. "My little fancy man's quite as fond of me as of you, Bess. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead. And it hampers us. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. Gradually McClintock shifted the burden to Spurlock's shoulders and retired among his books and music rolls. \"Shhh! He rolled onto his back again, raising himself in alarm. He reached a silver cigar and cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both.
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