Sentence The Sixhundredandtwentyfourth

 
And as they approached Trimontium from the South-West, Christiane was amazed: she had visited the Trimontium Display in The Square at Melrose, had been on the guided walks, taken by local historians, who pointed out the various features and both independently and with friends she had walked well around and across the site, but nothing she had seen prepared her for what she now saw – a vast, bustling place, with stout defences and row after row of wooden huts, which she guessed
were the barracks; Marcus (whom she secretly thought of as Guy Fawkes) took her to a Guest House where she found a number of women, wives and children of the permanent Officers, and was introduced to them, so many that she laughed and said: "it's like the first day at school or in an office, where everyone knows who you are but there are too many names to remember!" and though the others laughed with her, she felt that they did not understand what she was saying, though the general idea was obvious to them; she quickly realised that she was the only blonde there, and that some of 
the younger women, daughters of the wives who eyed her a little suspiciously, wondering perhaps if their husbands would be safe with her, wanted to ask her about her life and, more particularly, the great battle she had put up against the revolting slaves who had slain her husband – Marcus had described it briefly in the initial introductions, indeed he had made it sound like a pronunciamento, honouring a great warrior, rather than a plump pre-op girl who had never punched a soul in her life and would probably have fainted if her story about the slaves slaying Larry had been true. before he left to go about his duties, though he had promised to meet her later and perhaps, after she had rested, take for a little walk down to the river – and she gave her imagination free reign; she told them of the fictional town she said they had come from, while vague about it's exact location, for she had no idea how much these women might know about Caledonia and more elaborately about the dreadful night when the slaves murdered her husband, Laurentius (which she hoped was a permissible Romanized name) and how his cries had awoken her and how she had fought for her own life, though she modestly pooh-poohed the suggestion that she was a heroine, there had to be a limit, for if anyone chose to search the route she had indicated they would find no murdered merchant, nor runaway
slaves – but she recalled movies she had seen, television series, and particularly Zena, Warrior Princess, although she had no idea what period that was set in or whether it was Ancient Greece or Ancient Rome or whether it really mattered, clearly no-one in 161AD had ever seen television or heard of Zena, which thought made her remember reading Mark Twain's 'A Connecticut Yankee at King Arthur's Court' and wondering if, like him, there were any inventions she could come up with: okay, no chance of potatoes, chocolate. or tobacco or coffee, or turkey dinners, they would have to wait for Sir Walter Raleigh to bring them back from America, but surely there must be something which would make her some money, because she was painfully aware that a woman without money would be hard pressed, and though she didn't mind being hard pressed for fun, it was another matter to have to earn your living at it; she needed time to think so excusing herself and asking one of the
girls to show here where the lavatorium was, the girl laughed, but guessed what she meant and she went for an urgently required pee: "Lordy, Lord!" now that was a real surprise, to find, when she lifted her raiment, that the usual appendage wasn't there; "fuck me over a barrel," she said softly, "when did that happen? and I never noticed a thing," and she began to feel quite katzenjammer all of a sudden. and fainted!