The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. ’ ‘Yes, well, I was too young to see it,’ the captain said, tying a knot in his makeshift bandage. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him.
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