After a week where my characters were on sabbatical, probably hiding somewhere from the stress cruising non-stop through my brain, I am back. It is a raw passage, taking us back about 20 years from the earlier snippets. I am having a hell of a time capturing the first moments of the long relationship between Christine and Eustace, but well, here is a beginning.
I offer 17 sentences for 1+3+1+2+1 +8, and adding 1 to finish out the thought.
“Please come in, Eustace, “ Tomasso said. “We can talk here. My daughter is practicing her secretarial hand, but she is discreet. Christine, come meet monsieur Morel, who is the bailiff of Senlis, and a diplomatic messenger for the king.”
Christine curtseyed, “I am pleased to meet you, monsieur Morel. My father has given me your poems to copy.”
Eustace reached for Christine’s hand to raise her to her feet. She was young, with intelligence shining in her eyes, and a pleasant face. “And what did you think of them, demoiselle?”
“I like love poems better,” she said, blushing prettily, “mostly because Maman does not despair of me so much with those.”
Tomasso laughed. “My wife is convinced that I treat Christine as a son, because I teach her unseemly things.”
Christine added, “Maman thinks I should find my spinning as interesting as science, since science will not train me for marriage.”
“I write of marriage as well, demoiselle. Perhaps you’d like that piece more than my other poems.”
Christine looked at him without a trace of shyness. “Most men do not write to my taste on marriage, but I would be happy to read it, monsieur.“
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