As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. He laughed suddenly, and released her. She pulled her chair with a mild creak and marched towards the stair. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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