Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. "Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. The idea of leaving for Mexico had become unbearable, as he was so easy to like and perhaps even easier to love. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. ’ She looked up again and smiled sweetly. He flipped the television off.
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