He threw her on the bed. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. "Is it poison?" she asked. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. " "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar. The intense darkness added to the terror of the storm. .
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