“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. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. " Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. But since you assure me you didn't write the letters, and Mr.
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