’ ‘A pox on the creature,’ swore Mrs Sindlesham, clenching and unclenching her stiff fingers. "Time to dress for dinner," said Ruth from behind the curtain. By now the horses would be rested and he might go as swiftly back again. The less she lived, in fact, the better. "Rot, weren't they?" "No. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last.
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