The rumor mills churned with the news that he harbored for her no ill will, but was simply too busy in his life to have a girlfriend that wasn’t “serious”. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. She could stow away, go to a place where there were no people to eat and end her life. Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you.
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