"He has not the power—perhaps not the will to do so. He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Lucy sat beside him. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. She mewed weakly, “Sebastian? What have you done? Where is Gianfrancesco? Did you kill him?” He crossed his arms. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle.
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