" "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. I can't run in these heavy fetters. There were mysterious rustlings that made him glance hopefully toward the sea. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. The man Hill has persecuted me for months—ever since I have been in England. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man.
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