The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. But, you see, I’m smirched. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. ” She pressed her ear to the door. A chain, riveted to an iron belt encircling her waist, bound her to the wall.
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