But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. “How could I, when your sister sings now at the ‘Unusual’ every night and the name ‘Alcide’ flaunts from every placard in London?” “The likeness between us,” she said, “before I began to disfigure myself with rouge and ill-dressed hair, was remarkable.
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