There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. 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. Moreover, a souple o' porpusses came up with the tide this mornin', and ha' bin flounderin' about i' the Thames abuv Lunnun Bridge all day long; and them say-monsters, you know, always proves sure fore runners of a gale. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that.
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