It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. I meant mischief. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. White calls them. However, confession of a fault makes half amends for it. 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.
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