’ ‘And she’d be right,’ Martha said severely. But then Lady Palsworthy had never seen Ann Veronica running like the wind at hockey. She was flushed, and her eyes were bright and angry; her breath came sobbing, and her hair was all abroad in wandering strands of black. She crouched beneath a stump, her extremities twitching as the sun set orange and blue beyond the lace of iron-black trees. Wood, was much better furnished with eatables than might have been expected, and boasted a loaf, a knuckle of ham, a meat-pie, and a flask of wine. You truly are your mother’s, Lucia.
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