"That's not an easy question to answer," rejoined Blueskin. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. You can tell me the rest another time. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne.
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