If Martha knew all, she would certainly die of shock. 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. “Lucy, do you forgive me?” She looked at him in earnest. Don't you understand? Back among your own again, and only a few of us the wiser. But I wrapped it in that nun’s gear you give me.
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