I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. "Did I hear you …" began McClintock.
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