If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. When she awoke she felt as if she were adrift on a soft cloud through a golden sky. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. Pray, walk in.
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