‘You are a born rebel, ma’am, and I can see now where she gets it from. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly. She felt her forehead repeatedly break out in a light sweat. . You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing.
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