She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. “Which one?” “The Miss Pellissier in whose rooms you were, and who sings at the ‘Unusual,’” Courtlaw answered.
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