” She was cowed by the three dead faces that seemed to scream at her to restore order by any means possible, even if it meant forgetting the children of the whore and all the events that had led to her unfortunate situation. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. White was scattered across the long stretches of pine trees and corn fields. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. ’ She thrust him into the aperture, and pushed the hilt of the sword into his hand. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, assuming a fearful accent. “Am I dull?” she said.
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