She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. So far as the eye could reach, the white level road, with its fringe of elm-trees, was empty. He glanced at it, and saw the bloodied blade. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. Jack had been touched in the morning, but he was now completely prostrated. 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.
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