She was never violent when angry: she became as calm and baffling as the sea in doldrums. ‘That’s not much comfort. His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. Little Anna screamed and thrashed as she was torn from Lucy’s skirts. She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens.
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