The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "What's the matter, lad, after all the wonderful fireworks at lunch?" Spurlock beheld McClintock standing beside him. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. He drifted in and out of consciousness. But it wasn’t the harassment that bothered her. There was more shouting. From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours.
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