Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Too many. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. “Because you used to be my friend, Lucy, and now I don’t get to see you anymore unless I can get into your house.
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