They began to wrestle fiercely. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. 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. " "And why not, old saltwater?" inquired Ben, turning a quid in his mouth. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself.
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