He had a wild impulse to shout. ’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. “Yes. 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. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. “Very well,” he said.
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