"Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. 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. "I forgot. "The feeling is dead within my breast. ‘That is a matter for the lawyers. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you.
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