She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. ‘Hang it all, Mrs Sindlesham is right! You are two of a kind. 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. Who could say that the two weren't in collusion? When a chap like Spurlock jumped the traces, cherchez la femme, every time.
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