“I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. ’ Still the girl said nothing. 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. Hill was seated. The Widow and her Child II. Everything in his favour—the luck of the gods! The only white men were miles down the coast.
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