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The Secret Power by Marie Corelli
page 58 of 372 (15%)
said so!--quite beautiful! Good-bye!"

She passed through the lounge with a swift grace of movement and
entered her sumptuous limousine, lined richly in corded rose silk
and fitted with every imaginable luxury like a queen's boudoir on
wheels, while Manella craned her neck forward to see the last of
her. Her valise was quickly strapped in place, and in another minute
to the sound of a high silvery bugle note (which was the only sort
of "hooter" she would tolerate) the car glided noiselessly away down
the broad, dusty white road, its polished enamel and silver points
glittering like streaks of light vanishing into deeper light as it
disappeared.

"There goes the richest woman in America!" said the hotel clerk for
the benefit of anyone who might care to listen to the announcement,-
-"Morgana Royal!"

"Is that so?" drawled a sallow-faced man, reclining in an invalid
chair--"She's not much to look at!"

And he yawned expansively.

He was right. She was not much to look at. But she was more than
looks ever made. So, with sorrow and with envy, thought Manella, who
instinctively felt that though she herself might be something to
look at and "quite beautiful," she was nothing else. She had never
heard the word "fey." The mystic glamour of the Western Highlands
was shut away from her by the wide barrier of many seas and curtains
of cloud. And therefore she did not know that "fey" women are a race
apart from all other women in the world.
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