The brightness Capes had diffused over the world glorified even his rival. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. It’s all very fine and all that, Vee, this freedom, but it isn’t going to work. The only thing that was louder to her was the beating of his heart. She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk.
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