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. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up. Somewhere in the world there was a book clerk with a discerning mind; for he had given her the best he had. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library.
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