"Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. ‘Thought it was downright wicked to keep you ignorant of your proper background. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. "If you thought that, why did you give me this job?"—his voice faint and thick. Lucy slept in the same room as Shari, only ten feet away.
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