Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance.
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