‘Yes, for there were too many females for the vicomte to make me a dowry. It is simply our point of view which is altogether different. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. He glanced up. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her.
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