Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. I followed you in. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. 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. ‘For once, you’re talking like a sensible man. ’ ‘Of course she could not have known to whom they belonged.
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