CHAPTER VII. 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. “I find it very hard to write this letter. It's fine with me if it's fine with Cathy, darlin’. Too late now. I knew that even with your scientific mind, you believe! I knew you would believe! I will likely flee south to Louisiana and make my passage into Mexico. Even our coarseness.
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