He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. By that time it seemed to them they had lived together twenty years. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him. She drank it obediently. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. You came out like an ant for your nuptial flight. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say.
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