" "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. I’ll give you, say, thirty-five guineas a week clear of expenses, and half of anything you earn above the two turns a night. 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. Love, obliterated, annihilated; out of his heart and out of his Bible. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. "It's a pump, like an organ.
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