‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. Don’t favour your father much, either, if it comes to that. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. 8. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. She loves you too well for that. It was a night of storm and terror, which promised each moment to become more stormy and more terrible. ‘The nuns, they teach prayer and obedience. I was his wife. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised.
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