“You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. A beachcomber in embryo, and she had lent a hand through habit as much as through pity. He resumed his listening. ’ ‘I like that,’ Gerald 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. Instead, they appeared to be at the hygienic level of tramps’ lodging-houses. He was plainly attired in a riding-dress and boots of the period, and wore a hanger by his side. She attempted by a sheer act of will to end the scene, to will herself out of it anywhere.
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