She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. And what did she do? Not only did she cut his hand in her rage, but she refused to let him help her, and then she ran away from him. Her mouth lolled open and drool seeped down one corner. ’ ‘Your groom? What for?’ ‘Get him to wait outside. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. She could feel her face turning beet red. She knew, too, she must not hesitate.
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