She came into the room. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. Their future would be glorious; he saw it in their eyes; he saw it in the beauty of their young heads. They did not want her. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. On Sunday, he was conveyed to the chapel, through which he had passed on the occasion of his great escape, and once more took his seat in the Condemned Pew. Capes kept obstinately stiff, and spoke between his teeth. ‘When I thought to make them sympathique for me, with a little tear, you understand, and some tricks feminine of this kind—’ ‘Feminine tricks, too?’ cut in Gerald admiringly, controlling a quivering lip.
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