For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. “My sister and I,” she said slowly, “have seen very little of each other lately. ‘Are you going to come quietly, mademoiselle?’ he demanded with grim determination. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders.
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