“Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. These things are difficult. Even the light was different in Athens, soft and golden, sweet as the morning dew blessed by Athena herself. She delighted in frustrating him. White. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back.
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