The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. Cautiously stepping outside, he looked up towards the terrace. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. “I wish that I could forget it,” he said. Shall we turn back?" "And disappoint Mr. See? You marry me. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death.
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