That same adventurousness that had already buoyed her through crises that would have overwhelmed any normally feminine girl with shame and horror now became uppermost again. His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. 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 occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor. I've despatched him to the New Prison.
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