She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. “The real reason why I am out of place here,” she said, “is because I like men. “There’s no one here except me. Capes had the gift of easy, unaffected writing, coupled with very clear and logical thinking, and to follow his written thought gave her the sensation of cutting things with a perfectly new, perfectly sharp knife. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself.
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