She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. There were a few loose, broken fragments of rock to reckon with upon the ledges, and one place where hands did as much work as toes. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. Now I’d like the rest of your story. “It looks all right,” said Capes. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. Yet in some hidden corner was a vein of sentiment, of which for the first time in his later life he was now unexpectedly aware.
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