It was my destiny to have her. ” Lucy looked at the small shelf which was jammed with thick paperbacks by every major horror novelist of the twentieth century. Whatever happened she need never return to that possibility. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. “So how about this Friday?” He asked. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. He is the one who has said that she must go to the convent. .
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