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. He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. “Michelle, I cannot give you my blessing. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. "One'd think it rained fares, as well as blowed great guns.
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