” “Are you in a hurry,” she asked carelessly. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “Am I hurting you?” She asked. They went into Michelle's tiny bedroom, bare except for a dresser, a closet, and a miniscule single bed that resembled her own at the Becks. ’ Shock ripped through Charvill’s chest. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago.
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