She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. She was amazed that at over sixhundred years old that she could miss her parents so bitterly. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life.
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