Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. . . Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. “Shhh. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Wait a moment. ” He frowned. Tell me why you ran away from the convent.
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