She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. Her linen gown was soft against the heavy skins. ‘And why not?’ ‘Because,’ Gerald said matter of factly, ‘convent-bred jeune demoiselles do not commonly know how to handle either pistols or daggers. My uterus and my ovaries are gone. She stared. "Can't!" repeated his mother. “Look at me. ‘You escape from your own convent, at great personal danger. " "Fooled or not," returned Mrs. ” She turned her face to the fire, gripped her hands upon her elbows, and drew her thin shoulders together in a shrug.
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