She crept into the living room and turned off the set, adjusting Cathy’s blanket which had fallen to the carpeted floor. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. For all her begging she had been given the choice to go into the nunnery and “learn how to read scrolls with the rest of God’s Spinsters” by her father, but had quickly lost interest when presented with the idea of bearing babies. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this.
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