’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Her desires were not for riches. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. He could have her in the car but she preferred a more private setting. “I expected you this morning,” he said. ‘You can’t prove nothing.
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