When she got home to her lodgings that evening she reflected with something like surprise upon her half-day’s employment, and decided that it showed nothing more nor less than that Capes was a really very interesting person indeed. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. He could not make good his hold. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. There was a third lady among the younger set.
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