She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. ‘No mistaking you this time. So far the boy's mind was clear. He jumped out of his own side once again and ran around the car to open hers in another theatrical display of chivalry. It was eleven o'clock. Her aunt was making herself cuffs out of little slips of insertion under the newly lit lamp. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her.
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