’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Like stealing. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. She was only a few yards from the door, but lacked the courage to rise and fly.
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