These things illuminated her situation extremely. ‘Parbleu, the bullet is still inside you,’ Melusine guessed, remembering how the Mother Abbess had diagnosed Leonardo’s suffering when he had first come to the convent. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. The raising of twenty-five pounds was a task altogether beyond her powers. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil.
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