"Not so;" answered Wild. . The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Ramage, that iron-gray man of the world, appeared dressed in a bowler hat and a suit of hard gray, astride of a black horse. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. More than this, it would serve to mitigate her own abysmal loneliness to pool it temporarily with his.
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