No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. “You could have told me about it, Michelle. ‘You are an avid reader, I take it. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. It’s a world in which the law can be a stupid pig and the police-stations dirty dens. He called to the other attendant, who held the torch. Charcoal. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. ‘And how is it that you have acquired this garb of a religieuse?’ he asked as she fitted the veil over her head. The son of Prudence instead was obliged to take her back to the convent on Sunday to see Martha and tell her the good news, and to fetch her meagre belongings.
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