” He coughed gently. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. Nobody toys with me. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. You must—you shall be mine.
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