I swear it. It was the size of my palm. Other girls gathered around like sheep. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. But I will not believe you.
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