She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. They seem to spend their time yawning and inspecting their neighbour’s dresses through those hateful glasses. "Hurrah!" shouted he, waving his hat triumphantly over his head. “Thank you,” he said, “for letting me back. ” “I was turned shortly after the Pestilence, the plague that they call the Black Death. But Gerald kept to a casual note. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. ” “I don’t have power over men’s fates.
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