He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. 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. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. " Prudence shrugged. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. For hours he seemed to have pleasant dreams of open skies and airplanes, but then the dreams would disintegrate into fleshy charnel house nightmares where he could hear her calling to him through a fog. Please to let me go there.
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