She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. ‘You do not want to be a nun,’ he said now, and Melusine noted with a prick at her senses the irritation in his tone. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened.
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