The ink, contained in a grimy bottle unearthed in the outhouse, was old, and made blotches as soon as it touched the paper. Inside was Anna, leaning a little forward to watch the passers-by, bright-eyed, full to the brim of the insatiable curiosity of youth—the desire to understand and appreciate this new world in which she found herself. It was a duel, you understand, and that is not permitted. A handy knife, and a good tot of something sharp to clean out the wound. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you.
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