She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. Her softly intertwined fingers became rigid. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. Or else he was indeed obsessed. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility.
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