Explore "The Missioner" by E. Phillips Oppenheim on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Wilhelmina was resting -- and looked in need of it. All the delicate colours and fluttering ribbons of her Doucet dressing-jacket could not hide the pallor of her cheeks, or the hollows under her eyes. Macheson, who came in sternly enough, felt himself moved to a troublous pity. Nothing seemed left of the great lady -- or the "poseuse"!
"You are kind," she murmured, "to come so soon. Sit down, please!"