She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. When he awoke it was late in the day, and raining heavily. With a cry of triumph, he rose, the sword hilt grasped in his fingers, the point swishing up towards her. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. "No matter. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other.
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