She was clad in fresh linen, but still wore the riding-habit she had appropriated, having sponged out the spots of blood late last night and left it to dry in the kitchens. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. Back, that you may be close together. It’s true. How the deuce, though, am I going to account for her? People will be asking questions when they see her; and if I tell the truth, they'll start to snubbing her.
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