They had their little dreams about her. The dress of this person was excessively showy, and consisted of a scarlet riding-habit, lined and faced with blue, and bedizened with broad gold lace, a green silk-knit waistcoat, embroidered with silver, and decorated with a deep fringe, together with a hat tricked out in the same gaudy style. “I suppose,” said her father, “I have read at least half the novels that have been at all successful during the last twenty years. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head.
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