It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. Parbleu, but I will certainly kill him this time. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. And the fact that it was dressed in riding gear had fooled her into thinking it was her own image.
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