Capes. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. “I do not blame him. It was locked. I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. On searching the coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. We two just love each other—the real, identical other—all the time.
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