She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. Oh God! my limbs fail me. There was no rush. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. She is a woman chosen in youth for her beauty and her intelligence.
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