McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. He would have risen again, but for the significance of the action. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. " "I don't see how this is to be effected, unless you yourself were present at the time," said Wood, glancing suspiciously at the speaker. To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.
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