The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. You shall lie upon your back; your head shall be covered; and your feet shall be bare. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said.
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