"I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. Our quarrel's quite over. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. ‘But I have the pistol,’ Gerald pointed out. The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. Kneebone, on his return from Manchester. 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. Everything, my dear, everything!. . As for this infatuation—it’s like some obsession, some magic thing laid upon you. It runs about gayly, it romps, it is bright and pretty, it has enormous quantities of soft hair and more power of expressing affection than its brothers.
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