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. You can trust me, Anna. “Do you mind if I tweeze your eyebrows?” Shari asked her. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. ” “Very well,” the man answered. “You may talk—if you can talk cheerfully, not unless. " "That's the way it goes.
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