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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. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom. She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. If they are not obvious errors, they are left as in the original.
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