He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. ” “Of course,” said Capes, and threw a newly lit cigar into the fire through sheer nervousness. ” He looked at her with white, set face. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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