‘I’m a soldier, missie. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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