A quarter of an hour passed. “Not much. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Wood's charms equalled your description. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. CONTENTS. 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 seemed to be labouring under some great excitement.
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