It shall be your wedding ring. She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. 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. His obtuse hands punched and jabbed at her uselessly, then he throttled her neck with the last of his strength. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded.
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