She stepped into his arms. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. They were the only real marriages she had seen clearly.
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