It was a face that matched her body, so pure and beautiful that any man would have killed for her. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. None of this by-play escaped Ruth, whose sense of humour needed no developing. ‘Me also I do not recall them. It doesn’t seem to matter.
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