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she could mend that; however, to be discourteous, to allow the difference in their conditions to show so openly, was very wrong. |
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Just as Alinor was trying to shake off her morbid mood and make conversation, a man-at-arms spurring a lathered horse came down the road. He rode past impetuously, pulled up, and came back, dismounted. Then he approached the group of women hesitantly, peering to see the faces under the close drawn hoods. His face lit. |
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"Mistress!" He approached Alinor, knelt in the mud. "Thank God I have found you." He opened the neck of his jerkin and drew out a packet. ''From Sir Andre." |
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Obviously they were letters. Alinor could feel the stiff parchment through the wrappings. She was aware of the increased hostility of the women. Her man had spoken English, and she had understood. Another cause for suspicion and dislike. She gestured to the messenger to rise. Out of respect, he had thrown off his hood so that Alinor could see his face. She knew the man. |
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"Does Sir Andre desire an answer, Adam?" Alinor asked. |
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"I do not know, mistress. Sir Andre did not say there would be any answer. He bade me hurry and, if needful, follow you to Normandy, but he did not say-about an answer." |
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Pride glowed in him. His lady knew him. Many men served her, yet she knew him. Alinor did not think about the effect "knowing" her man would have. It was an art drilled into her from early childhood. When she thought with gratitude of her grandparents, she thought about how they had trained the men. She never realized how well she had been trained, molded into a model feudal lord, for she was certainly not a model lady. The model ladies, bereft of their property because they did not know how to hold it, were glar- |
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