" "A capital caricature that," remarked Thornhill, laughing. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. She had made a bed for herself out of wood and furs. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. " "I can't! I can't—not now!" "Bat!—can't you see that she's the kind who would understand and forgive? She loves you. The Master listened, with becoming attention, to the narrative, and, at its conclusion, shook his head gravely, applied his thumb to the side of his nose, and, twirling his fingers significantly, winked at his phlegmatic companion. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray.
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