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. "Why were you afraid to show me this picture, Winny?" asked the youth. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped.
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