’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. Voilà tout. This is your choice. At least I imagine so, if what Madame Valade claims is true. “My father’s sisters used once to live in the old manor house.
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