He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. He died in the war. "A mother's prayers—a mother's blessings," she cried, with the fervour almost of inspiration, "will avail against a fiend's malice. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours.
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