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. The clergyman, meanwhile, proceeded with the service, while the coffin was deposited at the brink of the grave. “I hope nothing is wrong. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. .
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