Stanley, and paused. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. Montressor’s guests. It was so hopeless to put it to them. "She's glorious!" He knew that he must hoodwink this keeneyed Scot, even as he must hoodwink everybody: publicly, the devoted husband; privately, the celibate. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation.
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