Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. “Too greasy for me. I am quite sure that I do not know you. 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.
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