“Why, among other things, did I put my knuckles in his neck—deliberately to hurt him?” She tried to sound the humorous note. 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. Like the flaws of an old marble. “I suppose a girl MUST be underpaid and sweated,” said Ann Veronica. It was horrible.
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