"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. ” She shook her head. Whether it was the nun’s habit or the harlot’s clothing that distressed her more, he could not begin to guess. The entrance of the house 85 was grand, and upon entering she was immediately greeted by John’s mother, a tall, thin woman quite a few years older than Cathy Beck. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it.
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