The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside. 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. Does HE know I keep you?. "Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. You are my prisoner, murderer.
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