Chapter 9
Then there was another woman in front of her, a woman Faith had never seen before. She had hair the color of midnight and eyes to match. Dimly, Faith wondered if she might be a Gypsy, but her skin was white as a statue’s, and no wandering heathen would have such fine clothes, dress of dark grey lambswool over a chemise of black silk, her collar-broach a golden tree with an enameled apple in its branches, the same blood red as her lips. This new woman caught Faith’s chin—her touch seared like glowing coals—and looked deep into Faith’s eyes.