Martin’s crush. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. He did everything. Those I don’t mind, though, the games. Rumors had it he had been a looker in his youth, all long hair and chiseled muscles, but those days were long gone. 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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