" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. 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. The man or woman who did something for nothing always excited his suspicions; they were playing some kind of a game. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life.
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