In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. 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. ” She replied with a rehearsed answer, “I was told that my real mother died the day I was born. I'm heading for bed.
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