He hated the taste of it. ‘Quite mad, nuns are. And, decently as he could, McClintock was giving the man the boot. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. Everybody, he felt, must be listening behind their papers.
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