‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. You are the High Priestess of Life. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off. “I’m rather a persistent person. She saw her discarded nun’s habit still on the floor and scooped it up. “I want to ask you a question,” he said. Capes was irritatingly judicial in the matter, neither absurdly against, in which case one might have smashed him, or hopelessly undecided, but tepidly sceptical. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself.
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