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. But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. “Get me some brandy and my bag. "To—to—no matter what," returned the widow distractedly. This was the first young man who had drawn from her something more than speculative interest.
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