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He had, for the most part, been correct. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus. Now, do what you please. And look, again, at the women one finds letting lodgings. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room.
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