Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. Michelle found herself drowning in finals, and Lucy walked home alone the last week in obscurity and peace. 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. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. When the bell rang, she lagged behind as was her habit. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter.
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