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One only. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She has no proof—yet. She had not felt comfortable in his presence from the first, and with Leonardo’s precepts in mind, was loath to trust him. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. “You will come back, won’t you?” He nodded cheerfully.
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