It’s—it’s a social difference. At a little after five, on that day, four horses dashed round the corner of the Old Bailey, and drew up before the door of the Lodge. 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. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes. I wrote three letters yesterday and tore them up. My nerves are shaken.
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