For now, I fear there is something worse, something more present. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. He had offered to escort the young lady to England where she might seek refuge with her relations there, and proposed that the maid Yolande might serve Miss Charvill. Marvel held her handkerchief to her eyes, and appeared in great distress. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. ‘I’ll make it, miss. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any.
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