” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. "Ruth?" he called. Everything was done in a genteel and ordinary way, but on the other hand, there was no lingering. I couldn’t help the thought. I have been very foolish, but it is over.
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