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. "You may," replied Jack: "I'll fight for you to the last gasp. ’ ‘But Marthe, this is idiot. You have told me that you cared. Practically. The Magdalene. " And she flung herself between them. " "This is folly," cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness.
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