And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. ‘Merci, Joan,’ cried Melusine, moving to her and seizing her hand which she clasped between both her own for a moment, as she turned to the others. 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 really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. " "Aye!" was McClintock's inaudible affirmative. .
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