"Take me, then," replied the widow. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. "Leave us, Mrs. 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. Do you think he'll pay it?" "I'm sure of it," replied Austin. ” She patted his arm and wiped her tears away. For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present.
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