"Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. Anna was singing as she used to sing. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. "And you have seen … drunken men?" Prudence's tones were full of suppressed horror. “We will take it then,” he said, “that you have refused or ignored one request I have made you this morning.
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