‘Odd sort of a nun. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. In some cases they were ground almost to powder; in others, driven deeply into the earth, as if discharged from a piece of ordnance. Too damned chickenhearted to confess to me he’d run off with the woman. Why were you following Valade?’ She shrugged and turned away, moving as if to seek escape among the bookshelves all about one corner of the room. One might have said that these trees grieved for their native soil; and, grieving, refused to bear. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. “You too were deceived.
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