Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. She met his eye for a moment in curious surprise. " "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. She repeated this breathlessly. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love.
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