There was granite in her face and agate in her eyes. He wanted to become a millionaire. 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. She nibbled at his neck gently, sweetly, as her hand tracing his chest.
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