I used to go by the name Lucy Iovelli, which was my natural father’s surname. This light did not remain stationary, but could be seen at one moment glimmering through the rents in the roof, and at another shining through the cracks in the wall, or the broken panes of the casement. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay. They were in different key, they had a different timbre.
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