Sheppard. Well, kill me. "You won't refuse it, Mr. With this air in our blood, this sunlight soaking us. I've destroyed my only chance. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. Her eyes seemed to be looking backwards. Her face expressed nothing. 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. .
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