The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. "But I have one last request to make. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. ” 129 She smiled wider. I’m sorry Lucy. She stared at him.
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