The ruffled chemise-front under the wide lapels of her waistcoat and jacket no longer quivered, and her pose, with the full cloth petticoat spreading about her, was relaxed. 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. It’s the rarest luck, the wildest, most impossible accident. His name was Peter. She unlaced his pants and slid them down his hips, examining him as he stood before her naked. ” It was a long, meandering talk, stupid, shameful, and unavoidable. This I have sworn to do—this I will do. “Please stay,” she said briefly.
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