The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. 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. “It’s okay. It is safe.
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