There was no sense in creating further difficulties for herself by arguing with the sergeant over her identity. She saw now that it was not a dissipated face; it was as smooth and unlined as polished marble, which at present it resembled. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes.
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