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“Act three. ” “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment. At this gate two paths meet. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. ‘If he had, he’d have found the sword, see. She had grabbed! She became less and less attentive to his meditative, self-complacent fragments of talk as she told herself this. She could run away from him, if she wished, as she had run away from her father; she could carry out the original adventure.
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