This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head. Everybody seemed greatly concerned about the sincerity of Tolstoy. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. You want industry—you want steadiness. 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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