Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. She had changed into dungarees herself and kept her hair as it was. She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. I’ve never wanted to get away so much. The evenings were beginning to draw out, and it would not be dark for an hour. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that.
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