The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. "All's bowman, my covey. He entered the driver’s side, not inserting the keys in the ignition. He felt her warm breath upon his cheek, the perfume of her hair as she leaned over him. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
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