Old London Bridge. Her father and her husband, who had both been a little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly flushed. “She has one, that’s why. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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