The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. But it would serve. Her head swam. He entered it; crossed the room, in which there was only a small truckle-bed, over which he stumbled; opened another door and gained the stair-head. “I’m sorry. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. "I've counted ten coffins so far.
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