She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. A short way off in the fields he descried a sort of shed or cow-house, and thither he contrived to drag his weary limbs. He was in a position to help her. ‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. I felt—wrapped in thick cobwebs.
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