Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. ‘That’s what comes of disarming yourself. Seeing the footman about to follow her in, Gerald clamped a hand onto his shoulder. 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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