As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. Anna hailed a bus. With this view, he descended the hill and presently found a footpath leading to the church. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey.
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