Jonathan stepped behind a curtain. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. Occasionally the mere fact of lying in bed became unendurable, and she rolled out and marched about her room and whispered abuse of herself—usually until she hit against some article of furniture. 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.
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