207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. She was gone. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face. So long as she stood beside him, the Hand would not prevail. It is so that I may marry an Englishman.
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