She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. “I know nothing whatever of his friends or his home. ‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French. Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette.
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