And, lastly, there's Mr. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. F. She held up the lamp. I can’t rest or work or settle down to anything while things are like this between you and me. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. B.
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