” “I wasn’t jesting,” said Capes, abruptly. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do.
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