The situation bothered him considerably. A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes. ’ *** In the cosy little parlour that Pottiswick rarely used, Melusine paced restlessly to and fro.
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