The theme was a masquerade. She could not say who, not yet. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. ” She became aware of her aunt, through the panes of the greenhouse, advancing with an air of serene unconsciousness from among the raspberry canes. But one could not count with any confidence upon Capes. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner.
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