The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. Now she drags me to Mass twice a week, and I have to be in the Church Youth Group on Tuesday nights where we study the Bible and play sports games with each other. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate.
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