I want to get away—to go to London. Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. In doing this, he chanced to raise his eyes and half fancied he beheld, shaded by a pillar at the extremity of the western aisle, the horrible countenance of the thief-taker.
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