Get the boys and tell Jerd to give you pick of my horses, except Black Star and Night.

But--do not shed blood for my cattle nor heedlessly risk your lives." Jane Withersteen rushed to the silence and seclusion of her room, and there could not longer hold back the bursting of her wrath.

She went stone-blind in the fury of a passion that had never before showed its power.

Lying upon her bed, sightless, voiceless, she was a writhing, living flame.

And she tossed there while her fury burned and burned, and finally burned itself out.
Then, weak and spent, she lay thinking, not of the oppression that would break her, but of this new revelation of self.