“Thank God,” he exclaimed. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. “Thank you,” she said coolly. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. McClintock does it; and he knows why. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. " "Never!" replied the woollen-draper; "and if that treacherous rascal, by your side, doesn't make himself scarce quickly, I'll send a bullet through his brain. "You must not remain here," he said. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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