“It was poison—why not?” she answered. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female. "It is an ordinary wedding," he added; "some shopkeeper's daughter. Gerald’s temper flared. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. He was her only brother, and she his favourite sister. “Shut up, you little faggot. ” He too rose. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies.
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