McClintock stared into the bowl of his pipe and Spurlock into his coffee cup. “You MUST,” he said, “because of my depression. ‘Well! I hadn’t no notion as he’d got hisself married again. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. ‘Jarvis Remenham was your mother’s father. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. "It is droll," he said.
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