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F. "Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!" Winifred made no answer. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. Her heart in her mouth, hoping against hope, Melusine made her way back to where she had left the boy.
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