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. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. “I believe,” he said, “that you mean me to be Prime Minister. All his dreams shattered in an instant. He wisely refrained from questioning the manager of the Victoria. .
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