"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. "He will kill me," cried Thames. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards.
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