’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. “Sure, I guess so. 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. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. I think too much about myself.
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