There was only one small grated window in this hold, which admitted but little light. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. ” Capes lifted her hand and kissed it.
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