She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. \"How's it going, Lucy?\" She turned. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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