About halfway across this interval, when everything seemed going well, Capes had a shock. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. There was a huge desk of heavily carved ebony at one end, and at the centre, a couple of straight-backed chairs stood before a great fireplace at the outer wall, flanked by two bookshelves with casement windows above. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping.
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