Ramage,” she said, clinging to her one point, “I want to get out of this horrible little room. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. "Hell's curses!" muttered Jonathan between his teeth; "that fool will ruin all. Well, kill me. He doesn't resemble you at all. 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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