C. " "Afraid?" "Yes. What's it like, Joan?" "It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards. He will say who it was. 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're luck. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. I kept them on myself till the sight of your empty chair and the chill loneliness of it all nearly sent me mad. I shall count it a privilege.
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