"Did I hear you …" began McClintock. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. Courtlaw, Mr. It will be a little lonely sometimes,” she said, looking around at them, “and I shall miss you all, but it is the fairest for myself —and I think for you. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. The salt air was fresher than the stale air in the manor.
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