For a long time even the strong pipe tobacco (with which McClintock supplied him) possessed a coconut flavour. E. I never even burrowed down into the trunk. There was no need of sowing suspicion when he wasn't really certain there were grounds for it. He had been for months without music of the character he loved—and he dared not play any of it! McClintock, after the music began, left the piano and sat in a corner just beyond the circle of light cast by the lamp. When about to retire to rest, the rencounter with Jack Sheppard again recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for not acquainting Mr. B.
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