And so the amber hair of Francis Crawford’s father, which all his life had marked him out: for hurt, for passion; for treachery; performed its last destined office in the sunshine and fresh winds of England that morning. A single rider, a sober doublet and cloak might have escaped notice. But not the bare, golden head.

I love the way he loves me  ,His love expression is unique, that's why I fell for him,

Nonintervention does not mean that nothing happens. It means that something else happens.

He never yelled or screamed so I felt very at home and comfortable.

Written By Margaret O'Brien

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Written By Margaret O&#39;Brien

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Written By Margaret O'Brien