Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. For freedom at least.
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