‘This was a picture of Mary Remenham that I have found today. I don’t think they do matter. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. ’ ‘Was it?’ Her lips twitched. ” “But it is too late,” she declared. She spoke readily enough, but there was a new timidity in her manner. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again.
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