. 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. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. “How so?” “I should have shared these things with you earlier, my sweet heart. Disillusion stands in one doorway of our house and Mockery in the other.
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