"But, where's the strange gentleman I saw under the table?" "Under the table!" echoed Blueskin, winking at Jack. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. After all, she was a consummate actress. 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.
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