You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. “It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. Abruptly he gripped her wrist. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. I’m sorry.
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