’ Roding blinked. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. 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. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought.
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