“It is possible,” Courtlaw said, “that you too were deceived. ‘But then again, possibly not. “He has said something of the sort. He would know the truth then once and for all. As though accidentally she swept her skirts from a chair close drawn to her own. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. I've sent for the priest.
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