He now tells her that she is free, no longer a slave. 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. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. She gave me an impression of a sort of patched quilt; little bits of patterned stuff coming up again and again. I don’t half disagree with you, Vee, really; only thing is, I don’t see how you’re going to pull it off.
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