From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. He was—a millionaire. “Fancy stabbing a man for jealousy!” she thought. Kneebone said, just now. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. I do not blame you for the act. " McClintock without further speech strode toward his bungalow; and half an hour later Spurlock, passing, heard the piano-tuning key at work.
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