’ I don’t know what you’d call it —a sort of witchery, almost suggestiveness. 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. “Don’t you think I ought to?” she asked, very submissively.
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