"We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. It appeared he had already ordered dinner and wine, and the whiskered waiter waved in his subordinate with the soup forthwith. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. “Hold on, she’s right here.
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