Earles asked sharply. Her girl, Clarice, was ten and just as pretty as a silver bell. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Somewhere she had read that it was the proper thing to do and that men liked to be alone with their tobacco. McClintock does it; and he knows why. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom.
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