The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. “I’m really very sorry. He found the horse where Thames told him he would find him, mounted, and rode off across the fields in the direction of town.
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