He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. " "You were born on the island?" "I believe so. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison.
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