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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. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. ” It was sitting in her suitcase in the same pocket as the expired bus tickets. β€œIn self-defence I had to,” she answered.

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