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McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Here, without a glimpse of daylight; visited by no one except Austin at stated intervals, who neither answered a question nor addressed a word to him; fed upon the worst diet, literally mouldy bread and ditch-water; surrounded by stone walls; with a flagged floor for his pillow, and without so much as a blanket to protect him from the death-like cold that pierced his frame,—Jack's stout heart was subdued, and he fell into the deepest dejection, ardently longing for the time when even a violent death should terminate his sufferings. She took some shirts, underwear, shoes, a duffel bag, and his wallet to make it look like he had gone a-traveling. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. ” She sat motionless, with her hand tightening over the edge of the table, and he, too, said no more. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage.
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