’ ‘Also madame his wife—’ Charvill’s gorge rose. “I’ve been thinking of you all night,” she answered. The mummies were tossed into the collection. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry.
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