Judith McNaught

spring flowers had burst into bloom,

shoved the visor of her helmet up

rollicking game of knights-of-yor

Lulled by the steady clip-clop of old Thunder's

Overhead the branches of the oak trees met, swaying in the spring night, casting eerie shadows on the path as they blotted out the moon.

In a blur of panic and pain,

heaved herself forward with a strength born of sheer terror—

Just as her hand closed around the stock of her rifle, she

"Quick, Grimm!" he called over to his coachman,

caused a furor of lewd comments and bawdy suggestions from the occupants of the common room who, because of the lateness of the hour, were deeply in their cups.