His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. "So, wanton, I have found you!" "Wanton! Why, you infernal liar!" cried Spurlock, striking at the arm.
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