“The best cure was to do exactly what she wanted; namely, remount and go for a longer ride. As the backhouse boy was busy cleaning ashes from stove and fireplace, she was confined to the private land between Penholme and Rosedale, but this left her plenty of choice. How exhilarating it was to be flying through meadows with the wind in her face and a smooth pacer under her, to be able to jump a stream instead of urging Mrs. Dobbin through it. When a low fence suddenly appeared in front of her, sh...e summoned her courage and put Lady over it. There! She hadn’t done that in five years. She had forgotten the soaring joy of a real ride. When she became warm from her exertions, she rode through the shaded spinney at a slower pace, to admire the wild flowers and the soft gurgle of a brook. The morning was perfect—nearly. A companion to ride with would have completed the pleasure. From there she rode around the edge of the sheep field to admire the gamboling new lambs, which looked like little clouds fallen from the sky.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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