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. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. I do not know if I will have to escape quickly once more. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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