He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. “I have learned that. I think John 42 will be there. Or I should say—’ ‘Eugenia,’ cut in Gerald grimly. 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. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that. You love money. Her back stiffened. The Master of the Mint.
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