The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Away in London even now Capes was packing and preparing; Capes, the magic man whose touch turned one to trembling fire.
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