The Journal of Lucy Quince
“From a distance, they seemed a motley group. Nothing distinguished them but the red stallion leading the herd. He arched his neck and trumpeted a challenge as though he knew we watched. Then he snorted and circled his mares, urging them into a gallop as they fled.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mr. Quince stood behind me, close enough so that I could feel the heat of his body.
I moved away, putting space between us and he said, “Hot out here for a woman with such delicate skin. I imagine you...’d like to shuck some of those fancy clothes right now.” He made statements like that often, not seeming to understand the inappropriateness of his personal observations.
As for my fancy clothes, I’d worn my Boston riding livery, certainly not as elegant as my hunt dress. Mr. Quince’s remarks irritated me almost as much as the hot sun beating down on the heavy dark material. I was perspiring beneath it and miserably aware of the damp material clinging to my body.MoreLess
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mr. Quince stood behind me, close enough so that I could feel the heat of his body.
I moved away, putting space between us and he said, “Hot out here for a woman with such delicate skin. I imagine you...’d like to shuck some of those fancy clothes right now.” He made statements like that often, not seeming to understand the inappropriateness of his personal observations.
As for my fancy clothes, I’d worn my Boston riding livery, certainly not as elegant as my hunt dress. Mr. Quince’s remarks irritated me almost as much as the hot sun beating down on the heavy dark material. I was perspiring beneath it and miserably aware of the damp material clinging to my body.MoreLess
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