But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Arriving at the chapel, their wonder increased. 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. E. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief.
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