We must wash out those stains up stairs, and burn the cloth. Capes would come to these teas; he evidently liked to come, and he would appear in the doorway of the preparation-room, a pleasing note of shyness in his manner, hovering for an invitation. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. He knew it absolutely, as if he had the check in his hand. "It's very well you haven't crushed the poor little thing to death with this confounded clothes'-bag.
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