She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. 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 blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. ” “Shirts?” “Shirts at one—and—something a dozen. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him.
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