Them young prigs is all alike. "You play?" asked McClintock, who was sorting the rolls. 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. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. I believe it amused him. We went our ways.
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