‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. The storm burst upon them in its fury. ‘To what do you go, mademoiselle? The life of a nun in a convent, in a country where nuns are unwelcome. The bleach had ruined it, with yellow-orange streaks invading the frizzy white that cascaded in wavy tendrils coated with greasy hairspray. I do not wish for you to see me feed. ’ ‘Ah, you know about that, then?’ ‘That much, yes.
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