’ Mrs Chalkney lifted her brows. She crooked her finger. Kneebone and Winifred. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. For a time he and Miss Klegg contradicted one another. 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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