Numerous sounds keep me company as I pack lamps and tapestries -- boisterous laughs of knights as they celebrate Luciano, the clash of bowls and plates being packed away, the tinkling of bells as ladies play in the streets. Tears fall silent and unnoticed as I fold blankets and close boxes. Another year ends and we prepare for home, but we will return to play and complain of the weather and of England, to celebrate each other and ourselves, as we have always done and always will. I take a moment to steady myself before walking into the yard, whatapos;s next?
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