McClintock watched her interestedly until her golden head vanished below; then, with tolerant pity, he looked down at Spurlock, who had closed his eyes. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. “I get that a lot. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. Smith's solitary orb followed in the same direction. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. 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.
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