” She said, frozen to the floor where she stood. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. Shouting to his companion, even as they passed by where I hid myself, he called out that he thought to find you at the convent. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy.
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