McClintock's initial revulsion was natural; he was an honest man. Yesterday!—who cared? To-morrow!—who knew? "Porpoise," she said, touching his hand. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. One has to be so careful. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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