A sophisticated woman would have translated the tone as a caress. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Melusine flung herself down the rest of the steps and through the doorway. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille.
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