She cursed Satan and screamed at the heavens, praying to Mary frantically. Peste, but everything had become difficult. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. This laughter released something that had been striving for expression—her own natural buoyancy. 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. The spectacle seemed to afford as much amusement to Jonathan as to the actors engaged in it. "She wouldn't let me go.
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