“Reverend Mother!”

“You know that a mother died this morning?”

“No.”

“Did you not hear the bell?”

“Nothing can be heard at the bottom of the garden.”

“Really?”

“I can hardly distinguish my own signal.”

“She died at daybreak.”

“And then, the wind did not blow in my direction this morning.”

“It was Mother Crucifixion. A blessed woman.”

The prioress paused, moved her lips, as though in mental prayer, and resumed:⁠—