The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. \"Hey, don't be a stranger, Lucy. . What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood. Perhaps it was loneliness. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. This is not honourable. Supper was quickly served; the oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink—their hearts were too full. As she approached, the carpenter's wife eyed her from head to foot, in the hope of finding something in her person or apparel to quarrel with. ’ Taken aback, Gerald let out a short laugh. "Pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve. " "It is so, nevertheless," replied Wild.
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