’ ‘Undoubtedly,’ Gerald agreed. A few minutes later Sir John left the room. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. She made no attempt to answer her sister’s question. There is a place—This isn’t the place. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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