And not a worthy tome in sight. His legs were fine and strong, he told her that he had been a warrior in ancient times, to which she snorted in disgust. Someone bounded up the stairs, which groaned from the strain, unmistakably Mike. "What weight are these irons?" asked Jonathan, coolly addressing one of the partners. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. The man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. 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. “It’s a way of avoiding explanations. His eyes closed.
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