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. ‘The gatehouse? But why must you move him at all?’ ‘Listen, missie. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. . When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. The nuns, they were very good with a whip. "The feeling is dead within my breast. I don’t idealize you. Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. They're on the forward lounge in the saloon.
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