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. Capes became rigid and adhesive. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. Gerald looked at it, then at her face. His name was Peter. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. Double-crossing wouldn't do any good. She had resisted as long as she could; then she had stolen over. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps.
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