Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. Henceforth Ruth would closely observe her fellow women and note the hang of their skirts. “The truth!” Annabel bent over her and whispered in her sister’s ear. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. "No, I don't. That is the dreadful truth. Lucia had never been so happy, so content.
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