He was alert, well-groomed, and yet—perhaps in contrast with the more volatile French type—there was a suggestion of weight about him, not to say heaviness. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. Late in July he finished the fourth story. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. Surely Capes was different. Father— dead. His face, as he looked down where his hand sought for a weapon concealed in her petticoat, was so close that she could see only the line of his firm jaw, the drag of his powdered hair that drew it into the military pigtail, and the black ribbon that adorned it.
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