She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them. “Odd thing,” Meddoes remarked, “we were just talking about the Pellissier girl. A black-garbed young lad leapt out and let down the steps. ” “Lady Ferringhall! Anna!” he exclaimed. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten.
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