” “I think, Mr. ” And she knew that she was safe. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. There was a young lad ahead of her. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over.
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