Not fit to be dust on your boots. There is no Heaven for your mother. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald said politely. 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. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. "Thumping; but that's only excitement. He was also aware that all his arguments would shatter themselves against her resolutions. ’ ‘That depends, that does,’ said Trodger guardedly. He gave glimpses of possibilities.
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