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The dining room, doing service as a dressing room, was a hive of activity. Before a cheval glass stood Frédérique van Erlevoort, her hair loose and flowing, looking very pale under a light dusting of rice powder, her eyebrows darkened with a single brushstroke of black. “Do hurry up, Paul! We shall never be ready… Continue Reading Extract from Eline Vere by Louis Couperus
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