" "But I'm a poor man. A town called Foster. 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. I saw him first a few months ago at Mrs. Once in, the constable's manner appeared totally changed. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. “Steady on!” he cried. ‘Let me see if our minds are attuned. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. He’s a quiet person, and he says that quiet people should never become salesmen. Presently he resumed: “I believe I must be in love. The devil is on top, not below. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. “They are full of the usual foolish stories.
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