"'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. She was fatigued physically and mentally, and neither mind nor body could rest. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjIuMTM3IC0gMjktMDYtMjAyNCAxODo1Mzo1NiAtIDY2NjMxODkyNw==
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