" "They may find me. If he escapes at all, it must be before our faces. "Is she alive?" "She is not," replied Trenchard, overcome by conflicting emotions, and unable to endure the boy's agonized look. 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. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. Her name is Lucia, she works in the Alberti Yarn Shop, across from Florestano the Butcher!” I happily rewarded her with a shiny new Florin and sent her off. . “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other.
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