I said, that day at Surbiton, ‘There’s many good things in life, but there’s only one best, and that’s the wild-haired girl who’s pulling away at that oar. Everybody talking of you. “Stay where you are for a moment,” she directed. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. It forbids—all sorts of things. Hastening along the passage he came to the sixth door. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit.
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