"I must go. But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. In truth, Sheila never saw Lucy murder anyone at all, she only saw the blood. “I want to speak to you. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. The stench is everywhere. He had grabbed her in the stream, embracing her naked body tightly, running his hands over her breasts and clutching her buttocks. He, who had faced the gale, would have been instantly stifled.
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