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. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. “What do you mean, hanging round with my wife?” he answered fiercely. “I have not left this apartment myself. It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent.
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