’ At this, the fellow Valade burst into unwise speech. ‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. 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. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own.
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