She colored faintly. A long chest under one of the windows was open, some of its contents dragged out and spilling onto the floor. 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. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. The man himself was not a pleasant object. "Hear me, Jack!" shrieked his mother. So he resolved to try another tack. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me. Good riddance.
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