Little more’n a week. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire. “I never planned it—And now I have begun—” She felt acutely that he was entitled to explanations, and as acutely that explanations were impossible that night. " "Respecting Thames Darrell?" observed Jack. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out.
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