“It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. It was a second reminder that against her claim to go free and untrammelled there was a case to be made, that after all it was true that a girl does not go alone in the world unchallenged, nor ever has gone freely alone in the world, that evil walks abroad and dangers, and petty insults more irritating than dangers, lurk. ‘One thing at a time, missie.
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