Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. ‘Imbecile. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. Marina gently passed the swaddled infant to his mother, who sat down on the bed proudly to nurse the baby, extracting a fat breast from her heavy gown.
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