He began a jerky, broken conversation that lasted until they reached the station, and left her puzzled at its drift and meaning. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return. "Don't ask me about it now. Things hung for a moment in an awkward silence. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes.
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