And she had not dressed herself in this habit of a blue so much like the sky just for his sake, no matter that Lucy had said how much this colour suited with her eyes. “I have given it up,” she answered. He became ugly and monstrous, dunning her, threatening her, assailing her. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. 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. "Yes; I know I look it," said O'Higgins, amiably. " And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few lines upon it.
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