She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. Not alone with her, that’s sure. “I’d have to sneak out after everyone was asleep. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast.
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