Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. " "We may believe as much of that as we please, I suppose," observed the carpenter's wife, with a sneer. He was in misery; he was paying for last night's debauch. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis.
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