Capes joined the students at tea, and displayed himself in an impish mood that sometimes possessed him. He would sit in his inner office and compose conversations with her, penetrating, illuminating, and nearly conclusive—conversations that never proved to be of the slightest use at all with her when he met her face to face. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. What was the matter with the dress? She could not see.
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