He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. ‘I am done, Gérard. You don’t know. 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. Surely she could ignore him. . "It is important not to slay him.
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