The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. He had chosen his time well. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. C. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.
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