If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. " "Pshaw! you'd do as much for me any day, and think no more about it. Shari draped herself lazily upon her unmade bed. She answered slowly.
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