Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. There he paused again, half turning his back and pretending to look for someone among the soldiers on the benches. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart.
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