She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Nor can we. “I can’t imagine, Miss Pellissier,” Brendon said, leaning towards her, “whatever made you think of coming to stay if only for a week at a Montague Street boarding-house. I consider even now that the present colour is far less becoming. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze.
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