The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. Lucy looked down, noticing that Michelle had left her shoes in the entryway. "And what do you suppose we mean to do with you, eh?" "You mean to kill me," replied Thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. Only the next of kin. She loved to be there, taking part in it all, breathing it, being it.
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