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He appeared to be in his early twenties, but he was already losing his hair and had a scraggly brown beard. He smiled, showing yellow teeth. "Sibyl," said Pheldris, and Marjora presently realized he was addressing her, "this is Harry. He hasn't much to offer you, but I will make sure you have a happy life together. Harry, why don't you begin to show Sibyl the ropes? She has a lot to learn about begging, as she's certainly never had to do it before." With that, Pheldris vanished. It did not take long for Marjora--or Sibyl, as she now was being called by everyone around her--to discover that she had been magicked in a way that did not permit her to stray too far for too long from Harry, or she would begin to feel a terrible pressure on her brain until she returned to him. It was true that he had absolutely nothing, but apparently Pheldris had promised to organize a nice little wedding for them in a year's time. Until then, they were to simply survive as best they could begging. Sibyl could not stand the smell of the slums in which they lived, and the city to which they trekked each morning, in a two-hour trip, was hardly better. By the time they walked two more hours back home every evening, she felt sick, and often threw up what little she ate. Harry didn't talk too much, and seemed extremely socially inept, and she couldn't imagine eventually marrying him. Every night she cried herself to sleep, lamenting the loss of her beauty and her perfect life and her wonderful fiance Edghar. She wondered what was happening in her family now that she had disappeared, but Malboncton was so very far away from where she now found herself.
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