I smiled at her words.
Cesca loved to lavish with words. It was part game, and part quirk I suppose,
and most of all it was a way her free course through life at some times took.
She knelt then and withdrew my boots stating that everyone deserved a pampering now and then. She lit the fire, built it up expertly, and deftly led me to the ottoman where she helped me to spread my skirts to dry and draped a shawl about my shoulders until I should be warmer and somewhat dried.
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She sat upon the hearth rug near me with her arms flung round her knees swaying back a little to eye me while she recounted tales of Chinese ports and a caravan through to Katmandu, of the high glittering distances there and secret caves where nuns sought enlightenment and found it.
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