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. Naturally he was a member of the National Honor Society and a straight A student on the Honor Roll. The music throbbed into the warnings that preceded the king’s irruption. “There’s the classes,” said Constance, the well-informed. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror.
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