Lucy felt her heart splinter in her breast. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. She descended the stairs, and found herself at last in the street—alone.
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