The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. He smiled. Wasn't the river beautiful under the moonlight?" "We did not leave our cabins. "But, I say, that girl is a queer one.
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