Her mother was a goddess to her all through her youth, the mysterious ruler of all things beautiful and wonderful and lunar, her eyes that glinted spectral blue, as if she had the knowledge and the magic to raise the very dead. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. ’ A strangled sob escaped her as his thumb dug cruelly into the soft flesh of her wrist. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens.
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