CHAPTER VIII. ” Anna nodded. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. She was herself conscious of a recklessness of spirits almost hysterical. He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. When the lad is fit to be moved, we’ll bring him home.
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