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. Amongst other things, he had just brought down an old laced bavaroy, a species of surtout much worn at the period. She ran down alleyways and between buildings, faster than an Olympian, until she could hear his voice no more. All the rest is humbug and delicacy. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man.
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