She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers. Acne sprayed her cheeks in a fine red spatter where it intermingled with brown freckles. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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