"Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. It is no good going into that. A bad sign; it signified that the heart action was in a precarious state. She nodded. 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. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Lucy asked.
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