"Have you sent off the note?" inquired Jack. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. “Do you know,” she confessed, “I never thought of that?” He looked at her as though doubting even now whether she could possibly be in earnest. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. It would hurt no one. He saw the expression on the girl's face and understood what it signified, that it was the reflected pattern of his own.
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