Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. ‘And it is perhaps not so necessary that I do so, because Joan has told me of another who may like to say I am the daughter of Mary Remenham.
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