‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. It was Missy and Michelle in her grandmother's old Buick. 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. "It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed.
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