She wanted to think of him as her beloved person, to be near him and watch him, to have him going about, doing this and that, saying this and that, unconscious of her, while she too remained unconscious of herself. " "Wrong? What the devil could be wrong?" McClintock had demanded, irascibly. ‘You wouldn’t know one end of a pistol from the other. That's a most damnable lie; and when she finds out, 'tis then she will not forgive. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object.
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