Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. "That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction.
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