She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Plote was sleeping or deaf. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. She had one idea, she found, very clear in her mind—that she would get a Research Scholarship, and so contrive another year in the laboratory.
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