” The redness in his face betrayed him. I didn’t know he had Italian relatives. She addresses you as the Flower of the Lotus, as the Resplendent Moonbeam. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had.
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