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. Kneebone invariably takes part with me, when any trifling misunderstanding arises between us. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide.
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