A deep cloak fell back from her shoulders.

It might have been the light fabric of the aborigine.

Upon the foot of Mary Connynge, twinkling in and out as she walked, showed the crudely garnished little shoe of the Indian princess over seas, dainty, bizarre, singular, covering the smallest foot in all London town.
"By all the saints!" Law was saying, "you might be the very maker of this little slipper yourself.

I have won the forty crowns, I swear! Perforce, I'll leave them to you in my will." The shock of the light speech made even Mary Connynge wince.

For the moment she averted her eyes from the handsome face above her.