She must speak to Jack. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. Gerald raised his cockaded hat, and smiled. Nor must it be imagined, that while he thus exercised his teeth, he neglected the flagon.
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