His manner was deferential, even eager. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. “I’m fine,” she said softly. ” “But I’m quite equal to taking care of myself, aunt. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. " "What has he done?" "What did he have to drink over here last night?" "Not even water. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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