Making up a similar story to that which he had told the old woman, he said he wanted to purchase a hammer and a file. But McClintock's mind was perceptive, whereas Spurlock's was only dully confused. A small voice greeted her, hissing. ‘She won’t confide in you? Now, why?’ ‘Because that scoundrel Leonardo drummed it into her head that no man was to be trusted,’ Gerald announced viciously. ‘Monsieur Charvill,’ pursued Valade, ‘has left the chateau, and since we have heard from him nothing at all, but for the letters to his daughter from Italy. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. But if he's in bed, how the devil is he going with me, supposing I decide to hire him? The mudhook comes up to-morrow night. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her.
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