It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. 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 go to work again. Chapter XXX SIR JOHN’S NECKTIE Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey little room writing letters. “It’s something that bothers me. ” “I don’t care if it does,” said Ann Veronica. I don’t care if you never tell me any of your secrets. " But the caution came too late. He may die. “Eight, Cavendish Square.
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