I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. He dressed mechanically; so many moves this way, so many moves that. She dreaded living off the land again, like an animal, as she had done for dozens of years at a stretch. 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.
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