"Take him home, Saunders," said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, "I shall not require you further. He is coming here to tea. Nevertheless there came a residuum of expostulations. His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. ‘And if he is dead I know not. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol.
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