She despises me, I suppose. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression. Kneebone. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding.
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