As for Mike’s observations on John’s desires to get laid, it was the pot calling the kettle black. The both of them puttering about the tidy two-story house, Lucy would serve them both steaming cups of tea in the front parlor. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. Long ago. It was so difficult to put precisely. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would.
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