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The Stolen Years

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2018
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“Are you all right?”

“Oh! Goodness!”

Eugène, tall and slim, stood solicitously next to her in his black priest’s robes. “You gave me a fright,” she exclaimed, trying to smile.

“Je m’excuse, Flora. You seemed so…sad. Is there anything I can do?”

She thought, then smiled. “Will you take my confession?”

“I’m afraid I can’t. I’m not fully ordained yet. But if you wish, we can talk and I will give my vow of secrecy.”

“I would like that. Perhaps we could go for a walk after tea, or up to the old drawing room.”


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