She exhaled, feeling the tension drain from her shoulders and arms. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. ‘I don’t want a list of all the nuns resident in your wretched convent. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child. "By that time, I shall have fully considered a plan which occurs to me for defeating the schemes of your enemies. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. She reminded him sometimes of the one holy and ineffable Madonna, at others of Berode, the great courtezan of her day, who had sent kings away from her doors, and had just announced her intention of ending her life in a convent. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside.
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