It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. 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. Determined, however, not be taken with life, he held on. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland.
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