Capes was something superadded. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. She did not understand the note of hostility to men that ran through it all, the bitter vindictiveness that lit Miss Miniver’s cheeks and eyes, the sense of some at last insupportable wrong slowly accumulated. Hang the wench! Roding was right. She was radiant. There’s a hansom coming round the corner. She returned home to the Beck house soaked and soggy.
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