It dealt from floor to ceiling and end to end with the Theory of the Forms of Life; the very duster by the blackboard was there to do its share in that work, the very washers in the taps; the room was more simply concentrated in aim even than a church. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams. She had told Emile. He seemed to know a great deal about life. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered.
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