She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. McClintock was amused. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care.
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