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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. Both Ruth and McClintock came down to the launch to wish him God-speed and good luck. A sob was strangled in her throat. Lord Charvill’s sense of justice would not, however, allow him to repudiate his granddaughter, if indeed this female proved to be the infant lost to the family so many years ago. ‘Yes, miss. I didn't mean it.
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