As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at their back. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. "As long as I live, I'll never forget that dress of hers," Prudence declared. Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and ill-usage exist, it will be drunk.
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