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. . You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Consternation gripped him. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat. "I declare you throw me into an ague.
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