She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. So good an opportunity may never occur again. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. Both Spurlock and McClintock stood by their chairs until she was gone. . . ’ ‘That old fool? Why my brother kept him on I shall never know.
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