The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. "I suppose I must have been senseless for some time; for, on coming to myself, I found this gash in my head, and the ground covered with blood. That is why I was so anxious to leave Paris. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress.
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