She passed him silently as she dropped Michelle’s dried corpse into the open clay pit awkwardly, like a discarded doll. 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. "Here he is, waterman," exclaimed the benevolent carpenter. Wu may have news for us. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. See paragraph 1.
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