" The doctor hesitated, puffing his tobacco hastily. All this muddle to placate his conscience! "Here—quick!" McClintock thrust a cigar into Spurlock's hand. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile. His eyes were red. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. And let us go on with our evening. But when she saw the car, her body filled with dread, for it gave her a bad feeling.
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