The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "I witnessed the bet. A slender young man, wearing glasses, appeared from the shadow of the nearest van. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. "What have you got there in your breast—a stone? Is there blood or water in your veins?" The dam broke, but not with violence.
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