Her husband had caught her leaning over a precipice into the ruins of the oubliette, and had punished her by flogging her back with a switch. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. They turned off at Glen Grove, a sleepy town of less than two hundred. ’ Abruptly, the niggling doubt that had been plaguing Lord Charvill came sweeping to the surface.
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