Spurlock bent his head to the rail. “I do not even know who you are. . I wanted to talk to you before when you first came to live here two years ago, but I never did. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. Better come another morning. It opened and a nun’s head popped out.
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