At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time. "But, perhaps, he has not got beyond the room above. She had reason enough to be grateful to Prudence Sindlesham and it was not fair that this horrible feeling of loneliness should be made known to her. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. Charcoal.
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