“I have to go out. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes.
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