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She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle. ‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. The sun was setting in spectacular multicolored streams beyond Whitefield Park. I had no idea you were not the happiest girl.
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