’ He sighed. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. “What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. It came to her that to marry any one but Capes was impossible. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room.
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