If he took a fancy to you, he invited you to the house for tea, bitter and yellow and served in little cups without handles. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She was nestled under his bedspread. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. "I shall want nothing more.
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