She agreed entirely with her brother. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. " "Detained!" echoed Marvel. To-night she had a curious feeling that she stood upon the threshold of some change. It was in fact the first embrace of motherhood she had ever known. While you talked I was only making our plans.
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