” He brought out the twins. ‘One of your countrymen, perhaps?’ The girl clammed up, the moon of her white face staring up at him in the darkness. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her. 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. ” “This,” Anna declared, as she sipped her wine and looked around her, “reminds me more of Paris than any place I have yet seen.
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