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. Loose the wherry, and stand to your oars—quick—quick!" These commands were promptly obeyed. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. "By George!" he exclaimed.
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