She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. The knots and broken pale that made the garden-fence scalable, and gave access to the fields behind, were still to be traced. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. I feel at moments as though I could bolt for it. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis.
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