The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A glass of wine, perhaps?’ ‘Nothing, merci, I do not remain,’ she answered, although she did not rise. He would make her rub her lips with waxes and other ointments, precursors of lipsticks. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more.
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