” Lucy rubbed Michelle on the shoulder. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. 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. At the same time he comprehended that she was as pure and lovely as the white orchid of Borneo and that she did not carry that ridiculous shield called false modesty.
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