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He met her eyes with his fiery black gaze. The months that followed September spiraled downward. ‘I do not know your Gérard. ‘Like a vision she were. "I have not told you half. Wood, was examined. ’ ‘Because I was a servant in the vicomte’s house? Things have changed. Always as black and bitter as gall. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face.
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