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’ ‘Who’s bleeding to death?’ demanded Trodger. “I heard nothing,” he declared, “and my ears are good. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. \"No, what?\" She said. The winter of 1348 seemed to last an eternity, but the Pestilence struck in one day. The path he had selected conducted him to his mother's humble dwelling. Foolish compliments were tossed about like confetti.
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