He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. She did not try to approach him. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. There was absolute quiet. Even so much allusion as this to that family shadow, she felt, was an immense recognition of her ripening years. This is no place for me.
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