It was then for the first time she remembered that she had said nothing to her sister of the man in the hospital. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. So Mrs. “You’ll be there, right?” She asked, hearing his breathing audibly jump. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. When he reached the happy ending, he waited. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. 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.
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