“I was sick of the make-believe. He drew a little breath and stepped back. The stranger concluded he could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him the house. An old woman took her in. “I think,” she said, “that I rather like what you have said. But he tells them that I am a spy. No more. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank.
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