‘But you will not be in a convent. Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. ‘Jacques,’ she said, turning to the lad, and holding the habit out, ‘take this for me and leave it in the passage where we have left the lantern. I was supposed to do the same, but I didn’t. This mitigated her remorse enormously. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it.
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