The brightness Capes had diffused over the world glorified even his rival. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. “Who from?” She met his eye for a second and her heart failed her. 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. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound.
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