Capes most unfair,” Miss Klegg went on in a small, even voice; “MOST unfair! I’m glad you spoke out as you did. Denis, did you say? I hope that no one of our friends has met with an accident. He was always deceived by these rustlings which promised wind and seldom fulfilled that promise. Were such a thing to happen again, I'd never let Mr. Sheppard. She saw his face change, how he regretted. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact.
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