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. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. All the furniture was moved, all the meals were disarranged, and everybody, Ann Veronica included, appeared in new, bright costumes. “Who?” She asked. ” He did not agree with that. Perhaps you will now explain the alarm. But I'll never part with your irons.
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