Sarah Kennedy

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Mount Grace Priory was cold as a crypt, despite the gold-shot tapestries on the stone walls, and Sister Catherine gathered the woolen shawl around her shoulders to make out her will. The candle on the oak infirmary table guttered, and she cupped her hand around the flame. When the light steadied, she tucked cloths around the shutters, placing her ear against the wood for a moment. Nothing. It must have been the wind. The soldiers had surely gone to the inn for the night. She had a few hours at least. Sarah Kennedy
The Altarpiece