’ ‘It’s no use blaming me, Gerald,’ uttered Roding, shrugging helplessly as his senior turned questioning eyes on him. His kind eyes were puffy with fatigue. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. ‘And this is not all,’ went on the lady, evidently determined to disclose all her wrongs. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. It must be somewhere hereabouts.
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