Maybe half a year, counting this summer. The sky beyond was a surreal color of pink that reminded her of the windows she had once been entranced by at the castle chapel, their leaden lines depicting old religious stories and sufferings. "I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. “You see,” he said, “from my point of view you’re grown up— you’re as old as all the goddesses and the contemporary of any man alive. When I'm alone I don't mind.
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