She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. “But we satisfy one another. .
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