This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. It’s true. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her.
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