Not like my father. I've seen him often do it. He was all alone, too. The individual twist was always there, even in the cleverest forgeries. 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. ‘She ought to be. You do not believe me.
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