One glance through the window at that picturesque head had been sufficient. "Where is it?" "Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. Laugh on the wrong side of your mouth, now. Your aunt liked the pheasant.
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