“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ‘Pray you, mademoiselle, can you not—’ ‘No use trying to enlist Lucilla’s aid,’ snapped Roding. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. Eric Vorsack still toiled at work. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped.
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