When she awoke from a pleasant dream an hour later, she was shocked to find herself restrained in a bed that was not hers and not the inn’s. Go up and get my daughter so we can have some homemade pie. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. Weeks hurled past, weeks that turned into months.
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