He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. The times were such that, with the opinions he entertained, he could not remain idle. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do.
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