” “I don’t understand. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. “I will believe you. 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. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. I've already got some college credits 40 from my gifted courses. His glances were hard to disguise as he scanned her periodically during class.
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