Would you mind?" She wanted another kiss, but she did not know how to go about it; so she satisfied the hunger by pressing his hands to her thundering heart. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. ‘You have come to me in place of Gérard? But how is it you will help me?’ ‘That’s all right and tight. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically. 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. Good heavens! She was discussing love-making. "To paint your portrait," answered the jailer.
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