F. He’s dead. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. ‘From the convent, where else?’ ‘It does not strike me that you can possibly have been in a convent. ’ ‘Oh, yes I do,’ Martha said, getting up off the bed.
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