When she had finished she set the lantern at the furthest end of the
stable, and pulling off her hat and black curly wig stretched herself
wearily at full length on a truss of hay in a dark corner among the
tethered horses. The ways of men she had begun to fear and hate, but
of the beasts she had no fear, for they were always grateful to those
who cared for them, and they also had suffered at the hands of their
masters.
A lethargy had taken possession of her whole body, and her limbs felt
heavily weighted. She closed her eyes and sank inertly into the bed of
soft and fragrant hay.
Her loose shirt of faded dusky red had fallen open at the throat, and
showed the dead-white skin. Her feet, in riding boots of brown
leather, were crossed beneath the dark drapery of her cloak. A leather
strap served as a belt for the slender hips that were more like those
of a boy than a woman. The horses fidgeted and stamped, and a mule
dragged at its halter with laid-back ears and vicious sidelong glances.
Sometimes a stirrup or a bit clashed against another with a musical
ring and jingle.
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