She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind.
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