A silver necklace enhanced the dusky beauty of her neck. She felt herself shaking again. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all there was to see of Canton. Like a petulant child he snapped. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. The thought of beauty became an obsession. She was not allowed to bathe herself: another prisoner, with a privileged manner, washed her. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded.
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