The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery.
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