And Capes was thinking that his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat. If I do not look after her, she has no one. Feeling rather exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. What he intended to do with it is of little consequence now. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss.
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