A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Even if you didn’t know it. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. “It is in your hands from now on, Shar. “Of course!” he said. "And, oh! forgive me, though I can never forgive myself, for the misery I have caused you.
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