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It was a lengthy journey, made even longer by their overnight stay at a country inn that had been nothing short of horrid. The Swifts had led privileged lives and yet had only the most basic expectations for their lodgings: clean sheets and beds that did not list to one side at drastic angles, a kitchen whose offerings did not provoke nausea, and fundamental courtesy from the innkeeper and his staff. Even the stables were filthy, and Farris had taken it upon himself to see to the feeding and welfare of the horses. Indeed, after their night at the Squire Thomas Inn, brother and sister both were eagerly anticipating their arrival in Blackbriar.
Evening was approaching once more as the carriage rolled through Herefordshire. Tamara yawned and stretched, the seat creaking beneath her slight form. "God, I long for clean linens and a bath that is actually hot."
"Not to worry, Miss Swift," Doctor Nichols assured her. "In comparison to our lodgings last evening, I think you'd find the least inn in Blackbriar a heavenly respite. And our Rose and Thorn has been a wayside stop for nobility for generations."
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