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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. He patted the hand on his sleeve. ” “Not now. Men fled from their tottering habitations, and returned to them scared by greater dangers. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made.
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