" "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. "And now, to your own concerns. By this time Capes’ hair had bleached nearly white, and his skin had become a skin of red copper shot with gold. But we get over it. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. . I must apologize, I suppose, for speaking to you, but your appearance certainly indicated that you were in some sort of trouble, and you were becoming—pardon me—an object of comment to the passers-by. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly.
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