Meysey Hill—never your wife. He then mounted the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side, rode off. He never felt any need to explain himself. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support.
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