She almost sprang to her feet. 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. Wanting his coat, when he must have known that the pockets were empty! But the effort to talk had cost him something. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love.
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