She began to think persistently of Capes, and it seemed to her now that for some weeks at least she must have been thinking persistently of him unawares. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. She had made her way since then a little further into the heart of life. I'll be wanting my sixteen thousand. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness.
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