If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. 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. ‘You have rifled his papers. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back.
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