He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. And so she came upon the word Love. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. So good an opportunity may never occur again. You take them. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces.
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