She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. ‘Come, cry a truce. 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. Fortunately, her course had been shifted immediately after the rescue of the child; and, in consequence of this movement, she received the first shock of the hurricane, which blew from the southwest, upon her stern. Arrived at Westbourne-Green—then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse—he perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending the gentle hill that rises from KensallGreen. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. “Call it warning, if you like. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. “I am not dependent upon any one. She struggled fiercely not to give way.
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