‘You, Mademoiselle Charvill, are as unlike most of your sex as you can be. 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. ‘And if not her, for she is dead, then me. " "When you heard what was going on, why didn't you send for me?" "I didn't know it was going on. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. She left for good after he fell asleep.
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