“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. “I wonder which of us enjoys that most,” said Capes—“does he, or do we?” “He seems to get a zest—” “He does it and forgets it. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend.
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