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MAN WITHOUT SOUL.
“ I tell you, Lucca, I do not love these stuffs.”
The sunshine streamed through the painted Gothic windows of Windersleigh Abbey, mapping the carved walls and the clustered pilasters of Lady Windermere's boudoir with the fantastic glow of prismatic colours. But a gloom clouded the brow of Lady Windermere; whilst the eye and the cheek of her daughter seemed in keeping with the brightness of the day.
Our climate is a provoking one — singu-