She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. The spirit of disaffection was busy throughout the kingdom. “Go on,” he said. Ever since the young police officer had arrived on her doorstep the clock had started ticking faster.
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