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. He could think about it later. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris. Under the somewhat trying incandescent light her cheeks pleaded guilty to a recent use of the powder puff.
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