That’s what I mean. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. The affair passed at one leap from a spree to a nightmare of violence and disgust. " Sir Rowland's brow darkened. I hope I haven't given any unintentional offence?" said the widow, again meekly appealing to Wood. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance.
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