" "Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a fine cigar across the table. I don’t quite know why. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. My death, probably. This done, he let himself carefully down by it, and having only a few feet to drop, alighted in safety. And here's the proof.
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