“My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen has offended your father very much. The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. ’ ‘Yes, but in fact you’ve offered me far more entertainment than any French spy could have done. He was looking pale and ill. I cannot let you go. Glorious! The Pastoral.
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