And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. “I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone.
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