” A fair-haired young Englishman looked up from the depths of his easy chair. She recalled how she had stretched out her arms toward the magic blue horizon. She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. Wood, in equal trepidation. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. Wood. There was none.
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