When Sheila was in a good mood, one almost enjoyed her. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. “I’m so glad you’re here, Peter,” she said. "I am going to give you a try. It would be very good to be Capes’ friend. I've always been more or less music-mad. Never mind. He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. She was silent. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air.
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