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The Passenger from Calais by Arthur Griffiths
page 8 of 237 (03%)
benefit of the doubt, she came to the door of the buffet where I was
now seated at lunch, and allowed me to survey her more curiously and
more at leisure.

"A daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely fair."

The height and slimness of her graceful figure enhanced by the
tight-fitting tailor-made ulster that fell straight from collar to
heel; her head well poised, a little thrown back with chin in the air,
and a proud defiant look in her undeniably handsome face. Fine eyes of
darkest blue, a well-chiseled nose with delicate, sensitive nostrils,
a small mouth with firm closely compressed lips, a wealth of glossy
chestnut hair, gathered into a knot under her tweed travelling cap.

As she faced me, looking straight at me, she conveyed the impression
of a determined unyielding character, a woman who would do much, dare
much, who would go her own road if so resolved, undismayed and
undeterred by any difficulties that might beset her.

Then, to my surprise, although I might have expected it, she came and
seated herself at a table close to my elbow. She had told her
companion that she wanted to know more about me, that she would like
to enlist me in her service, questionable though it might be, and here
she was evidently about to make the attempt. It was a little
barefaced, but I admit that I was amused by it, and not at all
unwilling to measure swords with her. She was presumably an
adventuress, clever, designing, desirous of turning me round her
finger, but she was also a pretty woman.

"I beg your pardon," she began almost at once in English, when the
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