Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. ‘His granddaughter?’ ‘Yes, his son’s daughter. ” For a time there seemed no comfort for her even in Capes. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter.
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