The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He looked at her in some embarrassment. Lucy could see Diane’s clear dislike of her, the foster background she had come from, and the single mysterious episode with the police that had inflamed the gossips from all the corners of town. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything. Wood could stand it no longer.
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