“Let me know the truth. " "There it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. ’ ‘Of course I am, imbecile,’ she snapped, unconsciously echoing her greatniece. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance.
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