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. The day is already half over. He thought for a moment, and went on: “Love is something that has to be taken care of. You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. She says to be home by one AM. She could tell it was new territory for him and he might lose the nerve to take them off himself, without the aid of drink. She decided to go on, after a momentary halt. Her impressions of this cardinal ceremony were rich and confused, complicated by a quite transitory passion that awakened no reciprocal fire for a fat curly headed cousin in black velveteen and a lace collar, who assisted as a page. I just don’t know where to start. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern.
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