She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. I shall start at the bottom. Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. . She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case.
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