Something in her tone made him look up. 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. " And she flung herself between them. Ennison?” “He spoke to me, thinking that I was you,” Anna answered. But that possibility had been anticipated. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica.
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