’ ‘That is what you think? Eh bien. ” He stared at her, trying to guess at the mystery of her thoughts. ” He paused for a time. “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. . It is for that reason that this novel begins with her there, and neither earlier nor later, for it is the history of this crisis and its consequences that this novel has to tell. But with the skill of a fencer he met the blow and broke it, seizing the wrist. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Not far from him was a knot of lads drinking, swearing, and playing at dice as eagerly and as skilfully as any of the older hands. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure. “A number of beautiful things are not intense. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay.
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