“What the devil are you doing star-gazing here?” Ennison looked at him in surprise. “Who are you—Annabel Pellissier or her ghost?” Anna laughed. “I am happy. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. 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. 1.
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