There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. “What year was 221 that, about 1350?” He asked in wonderment. She propped a pillow against his padded headboard and sat herself into a stiff upright position, legs expertly crossed. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy.
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