A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks. Run along while I rig up and get the part in my hair straight. . I'm heading for bed. 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. Not a moment is to be lost. You are greatly altered. It’s true. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Then for the first time she was conscious of an unaccountable and terrifying sensation.
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