“If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. " Something in the child's voice, something in her manner, warned the spinster that her well-meaning inquisitiveness had received a set-back and that it would be dangerous to press it forward again. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed.
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