“Dreadful women, my dear!” said Miss Stanley. She succumbed to cancer of the breast at age forty-three, it was slow and wasting. “Is that a challenge?” She shrugged her shoulders, all ablaze with jewels. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. Michelle shrugged her off. ‘Aye, sir. ’ ‘Certainly that is true. It is foolish, she murmured to herself, foolish. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. Of all the amazing coincidences. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. Submission to the inevitable carried her through the circumstances of her appearance before the magistrate. She was the High Priestess.
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