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Post by mochnant on Aug 2, 2019 20:55:34 GMT
The carriage rocked as Germaine de Miremont idly sketched a scene from the countryside around his home. The axles squeaking no longer bothered him. The coachman had said Paris would be visible soon, but his thoughts were on his sketchbook. "You'll have a classical education" his father had told him many times as he grew up, and it has come to pass. Military history, philosophy, art... In another life he might have actually been an artist, but not in this one. The de Miremonts were not artists. They were soldiers. A long line of them had been cavalrymen, and Germaine did not intend to be an exception.
He would try to find time to sketch when he could, but as his carriage entered the outskirts of Paris, he knew his first duty would be to the honor of his family.
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