He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. ” A little sobbing cry from Annabel arrested Sir John’s attention. "Has any one been here?" he asked. As he turned the handle, it moved, and the door was taken from his hand and pulled outward by the young footman. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. To Breanna for believing in this project at every step.
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