. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. It'll be advertised to-morrow. “My dear Vee!” Her voice became very low. I want to talk to you, and I must return tomorrow. She was pensive and thoughtful. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. Wood, delighted at the idea. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. 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. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. No one would ever know what happened to him. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things.
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