“I’d run away with you in a heartbeat. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. There was a stain of wine upon her dress. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name.
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