And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword. I'll tell you something.
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