He was content to talk about himself, though in the back of his clever mind he already suspected that she was not offering any details about her life. So soft. Why did he care? “I could never marry a girl who’s not a virgin. ‘Knew you had the lad with you, and thought you were merely delayed. 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. He hasn't found himself, as they say.
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