“Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. There were too many kills, too many unsolved files in too many cabinets. 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. I must have this beast brought to London with me, that is seen. He looked distant, irritated.
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