Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. ‘But this is altogether a chance of the luckiest. I’d do anything, Vee. She slipped out the window, jumping to the ground from the second story with very little sound. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance.
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