The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. \" She looked at Mike. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. 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. “No lecturing, Anna!” she exclaimed. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. Much to my amazement, as soon as I was in her presence I forgot about my magic and thought only of love.
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