The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. He spoke the automatic thought that entered his mind. He lunched in the Legal Club in Chancery Lane, and met Ogilvy. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. "But trifle with mo no longer.
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