She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. There was a brief pause, a crowded pause, between them. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. . “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. \" Michelle opened a dresser drawer and picked out an outfit for Lucy to wear, a tight pair of white jeans and a scoop-neck t-shirt in a faded peach color, the tight kind that had become all the rage since Daisy Duke had first appeared on television.
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