Something with iron resolve the father had kept hidden all these years in the lonely citadel of his heart. ’ There was a silence. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. The hills surrounded her cave home protectively.
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