“You really couldn’t ride in it,” he said, deprecatingly. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. Most of my people are upstairs dressing for dinner. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. She was afraid people would follow her, she was afraid of the dark, open doorways she passed, and afraid of the blazes of light; she was afraid to be alone, and she knew not what it was she feared.
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