His cheeks were puffy, and his eyes blood-shot. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Then, after Capes had been through her work and had gone on, it came to her that the fabric of this life of hers was doomed to almost immediate collapse; that in a little while these studies would cease, and perhaps she would never set eyes on him again.
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