The nuns, they were very good with a whip. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. En tout cas, why had he not returned? She pondered the question as, later, she paced about her favourite retreat. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. I’ve wanted you—always. ' That has always haunted me.
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