May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. ” 189 “Are you feeling okay?” She could feel a parade of ants dotting her skin. 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. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous.
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