She could not help thinking of Capes. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. " "With a face as square and flat as a bottle of gin. He hadn't gambled or played the horses or hit the booze back there in little old New York…. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken.
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