She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Wood the best of wives. She was a little paler than when she had come to London, a little paler and a little thinner. I could not become an Oracle. ’ ‘That’s fortunate,’ murmured Lucilla.
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