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 an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Every article in the trunk was fully known to her, through a recounting of the list by the doctor. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. The foremost, tall, clean-shaven, perfectly groomed, half extended his hand with a smile of recognition. "Then I am old-fashioned. The man looked hard at him. ‘But that is easy. Just speak the word," he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, "and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second.
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