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. He hated himself a little for it. ‘I’m following a scent. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. Do you see why I have hidden the terrible things from you? I chose you because you are my perfect mate. The Disguise.
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