Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. 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. 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. Let us walk about. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. I had dreamt of the olive grove beyond the courtyard I had once been fascinated 198 with as a boy. No— no, it must never be.
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