Day after day she pounded him with curses, saying that her mother looked down on him from Heaven and sent a curse, to which he laughed. ‘Then mayhap this will persuade you!’ With a scrape of steel, he drew his sword from its scabbard. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. I don’t wish to marry you at all. The streets were deserted as they drove past familiar sites.
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