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She will not confide in me. “I am one who controls most of the Church, dear. Do not remain with me. 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. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. The walls are too high, and the windows too stoutly barricaded in this quarter, to admit such a supposition. He's as generous as he's frolicsome.
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