’ ‘The what, miss?’ asked Kimble, frowning. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. When she looked into their eyes, her despair put her beyond tears. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. You must remember, you've just begun to read; you haven't any comparisons. ’ I said. 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.
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