Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. Perhaps she had found this new thing in life, the thing wonderful. His eyes never left her face. . “I have come for an explanation,” she said. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility.
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