“The things involved in it are,” he answered gravely. ‘Not where we’re going. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. It was most amusing. ’ ‘Don’t tell me,’ exploded his second-in-command. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I didn’t understand.
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