Charley Pevenill was our host. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. Loved his memory still, for all he knew. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members. She calmed herself, breathing deeply.
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