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. It was not for a week or a month. ToC The ward into which Jack was endeavouring to break was called the Red Room, from the circumstance of its walls having once been painted in that colour; all traces of which had, however, long since disappeared. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her.
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