Wood—" "That's false!" cried a voice behind him. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. " He smiled at her as he smiled at death, cheerfully. “My dear Anna! As though I should think of depressing you with my long list of misdeeds.
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