In the struggle, Mrs. ” “You could never be that,” he answered, “but you are at least more serious than usual. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. She was finally dead, going to Hell. 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. “It’s like this,” he said, and dragged a stool beside her and sat down with his elbow four inches from hers and made a sketch.
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