To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things. He may die. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. A door in this house opened upon the yard.
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