She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. 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. Perhaps that was the reason why she enjoyed preparing suppers at the Becks. Gerald crossed back to the window. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. Wood. ‘Bête. We’ve done nothing to deserve it. " "I do not doubt it," returned Jack; "none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment. “I don’t see quite what your game is, Vee, but I suppose you’ve got a game on somewhere.
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