The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. “The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. ‘Well, this maid,’ went on Kimble eagerly, ‘and me, we gets to talking, see, and that’s how I knew he were off to this party.
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