‘You, soldiers,’ she yelled. She told her husband that she wished her nothing more than her own death. Ruth's arm trembled and her step faltered, but he was too far away in thought to be observant. The weather harmonized with their feelings. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. Wait a little; rest. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Oh, and only look at those stains,’ cried Miss Froxfield, gesturing at the blood on the ruffles to the sleeves of Melusine’s riding-habit, and on the chemise she wore under it.
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