’ ‘Grossly unfair, too. They left the castle that day for another, packing with them the leftovers of the troupe that followed them from place to place, never asking about the occasional disappearance of one of its unlucky members. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. Mind you don't stir till supper's over. “It’s all dirt that washes off, dear, but it’s dirt. " "My son!" echoed the widow, trembling.
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