Ah, but she could remember; and many things there were that she would never forgive. But how long would she last, withering away to a desiccated pile of skin and bone? Round and round she would go. . ” But the ring, and her aunt’s triumphant eye, and a note of approval in her father’s manner, and a novel disposition in him to praise Manning in a just, impartial voice had soon placed very definite qualifications upon that covenanted secrecy. I don’t think you understand. 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. Rummage, my boy, do.
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