” “Men,” said Miss Miniver, “NEVER have a reason. The Iron Bar 397 XVIII. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. 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.
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