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were so full of her. Go on. Tell me what she wore."

"She was dressed in grey, a white fichu over her shoulders."

"And a pink rose."

"Her hair …"

"Was snooded with a blue ribbon." He finished my sentences excitedly.

"No. It was hanging in plaits."

"Oh, no! Not when she wore the grey dress." He had risen and was standing by the bed now, he seemed anxious, almost imploring. "Think again. Shut your eyes and think again. Surely she had the blue ribbon."

I shut my eyes as he bade me. Then opened them and stared at him.

"But how did you know?"

"Go on. There was a blue ribbon in her hair?"

"The first time I saw her. The next time her hair was hanging down her back, two great plaits of fair hair, and she had on a blue dressing-gown."

"With a white collar like a fine handkerchief, showing her slender throat."

"How well you knew her clothes."

"There was a sense of fitness about her, an exquisite sense of fitness. She would not have worn her hair down with that grey dress."

"You know I really did see her."