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. It was owing to the untimely end of this poor fellow that Mrs. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow.
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