Her mind had been and was full of the thought of Capes, a huge generalized Capes-lover. The youth produced a crumpled-up card from his waistcoat pocket. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance.
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