The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. It’s gone. \"My parents. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him.
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