McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. Here, where every element of her surroundings was tawdry and commonplace, and before this young man of vulgar origin and appearance, it was striking. —"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She was as fair as the lily of the lotus. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. “Don’t let them know I’m here.
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