Her senses were prickled when she felt a new pair of eyes upon her. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage. Where I am in error, you can set me right. She was too delicate, too fragile to survive out there. 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.
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