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. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. Babies and females have got to keep hold of somebody or go under—anyhow, for the next few generations. She plucked at the knots of her racket and heard him to the end, then spoke in a restrained undertone. If you are going that way, why not join us. The contest was now carried on between Rowland and Darrell. When you reach San Francisco, you can buy something more appropriate.
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