. . . Charvill does not believe the general will accept them. He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. It vosh plain he vent dat vay. “Women are mocked,” she said.
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