‘Leonardo again,’ he growled. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. He was heartily thankful for it. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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