Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. 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. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the little old lady was screaming over and over again.
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