Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. Fine woman, Lady Trafford—a little on the wane though. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. . Cool and sunny, it seemed that God himself smiled upon that day, the sunbeams streaming through the magnificent arches dustily as the priest murmured in soporific Latin. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. " CHAPTER IX. 148 “Sure. Happened to be at the Chariot, you know, with Trodger, and it’s review day.
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