” “I am going to ask more than a favour,” she said slowly. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. Not like my father. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls.
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