” Anna smiled very faintly. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. She looked, Dorothée said, just as she always looks. He suckled at her shoulder blade as he slid her panties down. His stories had enchanted her, even if in some deep corner of her heart she guessed they were not entirely true. 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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