"I don't think he would leave me, even if I could part with him," observed Mrs. “I’m sorry. 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. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. They took her fingerprints sitting at the gray metal desk of Officer Nolte, the virile young buck who had brought her in. Were it not for your voice, I don't think I should know you. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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