He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him. Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. It was for ever. Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy.
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