It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. “For one thing, Anna,” she remarked, “we had not the slightest idea that you had left, or were leaving Paris. "I wonder," said Ruth. He too, when she had disappeared, called a carriage.
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