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. Humph. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. He thrust out a rhetorical hand. No one seeing you together could doubt that she is your granddaughter. Blood, they say, won't come out.
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