Jeanne d'Amblen waited for dawn. Using the lifting of the ban on exit, she passed the main gate, clutching a thick square parcel wrapped dark cloth. She walked carefully, with small steps, constantly looking around. Not passing and five toise, she saw them standing near one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest Claire. Two thieves swollen from drinking faces gallows. Two assistants employed by Aude de Neira. Jeanne was ready for this meeting, but still could not hold back the anger. Idiots who they take it? It is so much lying, cheating, killing, now even afraid of shadows. They still shared by a sufficient distance, and the bandits pretended that absorbed the lively conversation, happily slapping his sides, like two friends, met by chance on the road. They were waiting for her to come closer, to attack, to drag into the thicket, to snatch from the hands of a package and, of course, to cut her throat. Jeanne quickly looked around. None. No one who could help her, because the concierge never leave his post, unless it receives an indication from the abbess. Jeanne d'Amblen, breathing deeply, slowed. Then she whirled and ran to the wall of the abbey. Thugs immediately realized that their exploitation, and consequently the purse slipping away from them. They raced after him, trying to catch up. Jeanne heard the tramp of their feet. She screamed:
Letter to My Sister
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