Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. 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. Not fit to be dust on your boots. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter. The stench was cheese-like and unbearable and Lucy dry-heaved. CHAPTER XXIV.
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