The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. I’ll have it out with him. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. CHAPTER XIX.
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