How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. ’ ‘All the way to England?’ She opened wide eyes. She looked upon it with pity as she drank his diabetic blood and saw that several of his fingers were missing. “You know what? You’re right.
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