“It is the same man, Annabel,” she said. ” “And you knew, of course, that we were old friends?” “Indeed!” “Lady Ferringhall, I love your sister. ” She came closer. ” Hill staggered to his feet and drew a folded paper from his pocket. For all that she was of exceptional intellectual enterprise, she had never yet considered these things with unaverted eyes. 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. She drew her naked arms around herself.
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