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She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. If anyone noticed, he did not report the event. "I don't know how it is," he added in a low voice to Thames, as they were left alone, "but I've a strange foreboding of ill. Why may I not be your friend? Somehow or other I feel that you have been driven into a false position. ” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. Shy, grateful in her loneliness for this unexpected attention, she had listened.
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