The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ‘That was one of my own clever stories. "You'll not be offended, I hope," returned Wood, drily, "if I say that your voice, your manner, and, above all, your very extraordinary way of laughing, put me strangely in mind of one of the 'droll dogs,' (as you term them,) who helped to perpetrate the outrage I've just described. Plote was sleeping or deaf. She sat herself upon the bed. 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. They had changed identities absolutely. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. Only my father he is also of a disposition extremely stupide. His high brow was what caused all the ladies in town to covet him, it radiated intelligence but also something more primal.
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