He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. That would be an unkind twist of fate. The night was now profoundly dark. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused.
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