47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. What was the alternative to going home? No alternative appeared in that darkness. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. Most of the tables were for those who smoked only and drank wine, but there were a few spread with tablecloths and laid for dinner. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. The bedding was removed; Mrs. Stanley, and paused.
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