His voice now had lost its ironies. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. He and her father shook hands manfully. Nor was he long in making it available. “Very good,” he said.
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