‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. We smirk, and we’re a bit—furtive. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips.
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