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. For a moment she thought of saying yes, and then filled with shame. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. He pulled on his pants, his yellow shirt with the ridiculous horse logo, his brown socks, and shoes. Still—you must learn for yourself. All right, I’m coming. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the face, gave it a ghastly appearance. If he hasn't a job for you, he'll know someone who has.
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