Her formerly brown hair was dyed a white shade of blonde. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. ” Lucy said with concern. .
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