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The inn was a military haunt. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. “I’m not a good woman. You have neither reason nor logic. She had come to the end of her resources. “Any choice as to which of the Halls? You can pick and choose, you know.
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