For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. John, I shall eat that whole tin of sardines. There were moments when she doubted whether the whole mass of movements and societies and gatherings and talks was not simply one coherent spectacle of failure protecting itself from abjection by the glamour of its own assertions. Look somewhere else in life. And when she went to sleep, then always Capes became the novel and wonderful guest of her dreams.
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