Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. In your heart you know very well that this is absurd. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. His mother smiled in return, an act that brightened her thin face.
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