According to Lucilla, this comtesse had constituted herself something of a social leader in the rapidly growing assemblage of refugees, and would undoubtedly be ready to introduce an eligible bachelor appropriately. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. ” “Why not?” she asked quietly. She looked and felt like a fairy princess. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance.
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