‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved.
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