" With this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and stepped forward more boldly. ‘Aye, sir. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. Already she missed all of her fine things, her linens and leather bound books. This is your room. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm.
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