At this moment, the bell began to toll in a peculiar manner, announcing the approach of the corpse. ’ You have no right to call yourself ‘Alcide. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. You will do as I say, or—’ ‘Hoy!’ called Trodger from down the hall. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. 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. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. It slid off flimsily.
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