"We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. ‘She won’t. She had adored the stupid thing, and kept it in her pocket for about ten years. At the Palazzo she had been confined to her own sunny windowed quarters most of the time, but she had the entire run of the inside of the manor. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. He had diverged only a little from the truth when he said that his chief interest in life was women. The oblique ruddy lighting distorted them oddly, made queer bars and patches of shadow upon their clothes. "Open my heart, Father of Mercy!" she murmured, in a humble tone, and with downcast looks, "and make me sensible of the error of my ways. "Rather in the way.
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