It seemed at this moment, however, that there was not going to be any “fun”, and Captain Roding said so. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. She would never love him as she loved Capes, of course, but there are grades and qualities of love. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat.
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