” He looked at her with white, set face. And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. Some indeed carried themselves, dressed themselves even, rather as foreign visitors from the land of “Looking Backward” and “News from Nowhere” than as the indigenous Londoners they were. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. A strong arm pulled her closer, and the lips that mouthed her own in tender touches sent her senses reeling.
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