He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. They sat down, McClintock reaching for a lump of sugar which he began munching. “Mind my smoking?” said Roddy.
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