And yet, at the end of this prayer a subconscious thought broke through to consciousness. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. "Nobody has so much cause for complaint as me," growled Austin. He unhooked it from the front clasp. ‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. He was in great pain and it meant that he would be in casts for twelve weeks. 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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