“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. It never has had. . He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. 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. The patient fell into a natural and refreshing sleep. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. "Are you not content with the crimes you have committed, —but you must carry your villany to this point. "I shall want nothing more.
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