‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. 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. “I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more.
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