She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. 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. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes.
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