CHAPTER IX. 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. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. Some doting parent had taught him well. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. Impassive by nature and training, he was conscious to-night of a strange sense of excitement, of exhilaration tempered by a dull background of disappointment. Sheppard. Oh God! my limbs fail me.
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