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. They were silent for a time. She could feel her face turning beet red. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. There's the paragraph.
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