He drew her close up to him with a strong, steady pull. "But to drag this innocent child into the muck! With her head full of book nonsense—love stories and fairy stories! Have you any idea of the tragedy she is bound to stumble upon some day? I don't care about 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. Modern, indeed! She was going to be as primordial as chipped flint. And yet—I love you. She pulled down her veil and made her way to the door. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us. You would not have the slightest difficulty. I think John 42 will be there. " "Nothing," echoed Wood furiously. .
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