“It couldn’t be. It interwove with her biological work. It plucked shingles from the school building, threatening to shake them all loose one by one like rotting teeth. ‘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. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love.
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