’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. ” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. There was more to be told, and this was as good a time as any. CHAPTER XXIII. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. There was no one to be seen. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet.
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