Chapter 7

The storm had thrashed itself out but the rain persisted throughout

the day, finally clearing as the Crest was sighted off The Point.

“What’s the Point?” Sue wondered aloud to one of the waiting

burly fishermen.

“That be Rosmerryn Point.” He nodded towards the shoulder of

cliffs jutting out from the sea. “It be treacherous in a gale but like a

lover’s welcoming  arms in this weather.”

Rosmerryn Point. She had stood on the edge of that cliff, the rain

beating against her face while below the rocks pierced the broiling sea.

Tom sat on the bench, his gnarled hand lifted in greeting. By the

time Sue reached him, he had folded away his newspaper. “Good day,

me ‘andsome”. He grinned.” Where’s that good looking fella of your’s. You been

showing him the Rosmerryn place?”.

It was weird how Tom seemed to know everything.  He grinned at her, wrinkling his

nose. “Why don’t you come and visit later. We be just back-

along the hill. Number thirtyseven, near the old beach road. We don’t get many visitors.

You bring your Liam tonight, about seven.”

Tom Pearce lived with his friend Emma Dyer whose husband had

been a mate of Tom’s and who died in a wreck around the Lizard. Tom

had been injured trying to save  him.  That had been many years ago

and ever since Emma had cared for the lame Tom, finally moving in

with him.  She left him now to his pipe and his visitors, slipping out to

prepare dinner.

“Em enjoys cooking for company”. He  turned to Liam “What do you think of our


“It’s very pretty … interesting …”

Tom nodded, sucking on his pipe stem, his ageless eyes

intent upon the bearded, handsome face of the younger man. “You

have the look of a Cornishman”. His words were unexpected and Liam’s

face lost its habitual blandness. “You wear the look of the sea, man. Where your folks

from ?”

Liam exchanged an amused glance with Sue.  “Canada”.

Tom was shaking his head. “I know that – but before Canada?Everybody in Canada

comes from somewhere else”

Laughing, Liam agreed. “My ancestors did come from Britain but I don’t know from


Ol’ Tom was nodding. “The Merediths – they be a Falmouth family once”. Liam’s eyes

grew wary. He had not mentioned his surname. Neither had Sue, not even to Peverell,

and she doubted these simple fisher folk had ever heard of Liam Meredith, the

Rock Star.

“The Merediths didn’t last past the l800s – family died out then”.

“How did you know?”

The old man frowned.  “Why it be in the history books, lover”.

“I mean – how did you know Liam’s name?”

Tom bent low poking the ashes in the pipe bowl. “Must have heard talk

in the village”.

Emma returned with the freshly baked pie and home-made

bread, the aroma teasing their appetite as Tom mentioned last night’s storm. “Did you

happen see the Lady up on the cliffs last night?”

Sue’s fork cluttered to the ground and Emma, pink with

embarrassment, apologised.  “Tom is such a worry. He thinks every

visitor is in a fever to hear about the legends and fairy tales about this

place. Now, Tom, you stop this minute. You’ve frightened Sue …”

Replacing a clean fork beside Sue’s plate, Emma refilled their

glasses but Tom was arguing. “Its no fairy tale, woman. I’ve seen her

meself – many times …”.

The room seemed to close in on Sue. “I saw her”,  meeting Liam’s

gaze. “I saw her, Liam. Up on the Point.  She was there  … ”

She grew hot, embarrassed. “P’haps it was the rain and the

dark, the shadows … I mean, I thought I saw something …”. Forcing a

smile, she turned to Emma.”Probably just seeing things”

Tom watched her closely. “Not every visitor sees her” then “She comes

every time there’s a storm, looking out across the sea. She been doing

it for years. My grandfather used to tell me how he saw her too. And if

you talk to the folk who live near the ruins, they’ll say the same”.

Tom’s gaze settled on Liam. “Did you happen to see her, son?”

“No”.  He wore a cynical grin “I’m not the right material for

seeing ghosts”.

Tom muttered. “You be surprised, Liam Meredith.”

Sue broke in.  “Tom, are there any books written on the old Manor House – a history of

the family perhaps?”

“Maybe in Truro Library. A few years back there be that couple

from London – They live on the Penvale Road. He be a writer –

reckoned he was writing about the Rosmerryns but that be before the

accident. What’s their name, Em?”

“You mean the Lewis’.  Richard and Sally.  Lovely couple. They

have a flower farm just a few miles out of the village”.

Tom  talked about the Monestary which was along the cliffs from the ruins. In the

summer months it was used by a charitable foundation as a holiday home for homeless

children  but during the rest of the year, the old priory remained empty. He had kindled

Sue’s interest with snatches of information about the place that had once been a

Franciscan Order and which had, in Rosmerryn times, been equally

famous for its wine, made by the monks of the abbey. He believed the

vines were still there.

Breakfast followed a strange night for Sue who shared her bed

with Liam once again. But he kept to his side, never attempting to

touch her and when she woke, he was gone.

He joined her now and she eyed him warily. “Are you leaving?”

Leaning back against the stone wall,  his gaze shifted. “I just talked with Ray.”

Ray Turner was Meredith’s manager in Toronto. “I told him I was taking a bit of a


Relief coloured her cheeks. She dropped her gaze but he had already seen the truth

there and when she suggested driving up to the old Monestary he agreed without


Parking the Mini, they walked over the cliffs to where the old

Monastary stood among the rugged splendour of the wild cliffs.  The

high walls trailed clusters of roses and wild blooms trickled over and

down the crumbling masonry. Following the walls they came to the

gate where beyond the path curved and twisted up to the Abbey, a

large square building totally lacking in character or imagination. A

notice on the wall declared simply: MONKS CEMETARY, and a black

arrow pointed boldly.

Treading  the path to a small squared-off site that the years had

robbed of its original serenity, they entered what was left of the simple

resting place. Where once had stood modest tombstones, in their place

now were cracked and broken remnants and massively overgrown


She followed him moving slowly, stopping occasionally to read

a worn inscription. He stooped low over an overgrown mound and

she stood next to him. The stone, green with mildew and rot,

was badly cracked, the wording hardly visable, yet she read aloud


Born l724

Died l799

Moving on, she climbed a slight incline. At the top, the

mound was rough with weeds and yellow gorse. Admiring the wide

panoramic view across the Atlantic she stepped forward, her toe

stubbing against something hard. The earth had once been

moulded over the casket but now weeds spouted vigorously amid the

rocks and the low headstone rose up some two feet, its wording

chiselled for eternity.



Countess of Rosmerryn 

Finally at Peace 1794

Within her, a sense of panic began to rise until it overwhelmed her and she fled.

When Liam found her she was bending over, gasping for breath. Unable to

pacify her, Liam slapped her across the face. Sue cried out, her hand

cradling her smarting cheek. “You hit me again!”   He laughed, but Sue

struck him back. He caught her wrist, still laughing. ” Gimme a break!  Are you trying to

send me as flakey as you”.  He frowned, studying her ashen face. “You okay ?”

“Did you see ?”

He turned away with a groan. “Oh, no!  Geez, not another ghost!”

“No” Sue was shaking her head “Her grave. Did you see Carenza’s grave?”

“All I saw was you going like the wind with the devil on your tail”.

Sue shuddered. “I was standing on her. I felt like … I dunno what I

felt. I panicked …had to get away  but … ” She placed her icy palms to her

burning cheeks.” She is so unhappy – to die so tormented.”

Liam’s smile had long faded. “How the hell can you know that?” Sue straightened up.

“Its all there – on the stone. It was like she was reaching out to me … for help”.

He turned away in irritation, already searching in his pockets for the

car keys

“Liam, if I don’t go back I shall be haunted by that feeling. I don’t

want to be afraid of her. She’s been dead over two hundred years”.

He groaned, exasperation in the sound. “You’re letting all this stuff get

into your blood. You should leave here before you start believing all

this rubbish.”

Facing him, Sue questioned his words. “Is it rubbish?” then “Come with


“I can’t let you go back alone, can I?  You’ll probably throw

yourself over the edge”

He stared down at the old stone. It was as broken and indefinable as the monk’s had

been and yet Sue had said it had been clearly inscribed. In fact, she was reading out

the inscription. He bent low, peering closely. He could not make out any wording.

Suddenly the sight of him bending over the grave, gently brushing the

headstone clear of dirt, sent a sharp slither of pain through her.


She had spoken those same words last night – in that same voice. Straightening

up, Liam glanced at the old grave and for the first time allowed his secret fears to

crytallise, while  feeling the most extraordinary sense of closeness to the dead girl. In a

flash of clarity,he saw her before him: her face pale, hypnotic green eyes pleading

with him. In a gown of many greens with full skirts, her golden hair draped into silky

curls and ringlets, she was as real as Sue who stood before him. It was as if one

photograph was merging with the other to become one. Closing his eyes tightly, Liam

shook his head and when he looked again, Sue was clutching his arm, her bright red

shirt and denims familiar. They did not speak until they reached the car. Only

then did Sue ask. “What happened?” Ironically, their positions had reversed.

“We have to leave this place. We have to pack up and leave NOW.”

“What happened?”  Her voice was calm, patient.  But he was distracted, reluctant to

relate what had occurred. “Come on, let’s get our stuff and go”.

Sue shook her head. “You know we can’t do that”

He stared at her. “Maybe you cant, but I sure as hell can”.

Sue climbed into the car. “Did you see something? Hear something?”

Liam stared at her. “Something weird happened but it was just in my

mind, that’s all.”

“Tell me, Liam?”

He shrugged” It was just the shadows but for a second up there I

thought I saw something …” Then he banged his hands hard against the steering wheel

. “Its crazy! Its worse then being stoned. Its the atmosphere up here.’  Then almost to

himself muttered ‘ how can a girl who’s been dead for two hundred years suddenly

show up and look like you. Is that crazy or what?’

Sue’s exclamation cut across his words. “Like ME!”

Astonishment was diminishing as her own insane theory, which she

had been afraid to put into words, was now unintentionally done so by


“Carenza looked like me?”

Sanity returned to his stunned brain. “If she looked like you its because

you’re the one who’s obsessed with this lunacy. Who else would she

look like! Me?  And who said it was Carenza? Cant you see what I’m

getting at?  Now I’m seeing things but its all in our heads. We’re

IMAGINING we see ghosts but there is no such thing as ghosts, The

only ghosts around here are the ones right there inside your

skull, and now one’s crept into mine. Well, I’m heading out.”

Furtively, she glanced at him as he swung the car back onto the

road. He would ridicule her, call her insane, but she had to say it aloud.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“No!” His tone discouraged further discussion but she would not be

intimidated. “I can describe that Manor House in detail yet I’ve never seen it

before. I’ve sketched it in its full splendor. And Lady Annaline. I know so much

about her!  And Brother Dom …”,

Liam’s reaction to the Franciscan’s name cut short her fervent argument.

Pulling over into a lay-by, Liam turned. “Brother Who?”

“Dominic.  I feel certain Brother Dominic and Carenza were connected “.

Liam’s eyes were blue ice. “Whatever”.

Sue pressed on, wanting him to  understand. “It’s like I know him – as a very

dear friend.” A frown creased her brow. “Why should I feel this for a man who

died centuries ago?”  Deadly serious she insisted quietly. “And you feel

something too, I know you do.”

When he refused to answer, she gripped his arm. “I KNOW  we are both involved

in this thing, whatever it is, and you have to stop fighting it or we’ll never

discover the truth”. His laugh was cruel. “What truth?  You know, you’re

beginning to sound seriously unstable. You talk like it’s all fact – the most natural

happening in the world yet it’s all insane. ”

She ignored his sarcasm. “If you leave Portmerryn now, you’ll be leaving it as

unsettled as it was then besides …” she stared ahead “I need you”

“Why?”  He challenged her. “I remember you were pretty keen to see the back of me”.

For a long time, Liam stared at her as the colour flooded her face. “You

don’t need me.You have all your ghosts” . But as she gazed at him sadly, Liam was

shaken to see Carenza’s face merge with Sue’s until he was forced to recognise them

as one. Immediately he rebelled against such a thought. NEVER! Sue and the long

dead Carenza, one and the same? Lunacy lay in that line of reasoning.

Back in the village they saw Dave talking with Tom. The villagers were

growing alarmed because a small band of gypsies were camping up on the cliffs.

At that moment, the local committee were gathering together to draw up an

eviction order. Tom asked Sue if they had found the Monastery.

“We found Carenza’s grave. Why is she buried there and not with her


The old man stuck his pipe into his mouth again. “Legend say it be

because she forfeited all claims to her legacy and retired to the Abbey.  The Lady

died there”.

“She was so young”

“That be true, me lover, but who knows the whole story”. adding with a

twinkle “It be a wee bit before my time, you know” and chuckled.

Dave, who had joined them, took up the story. “Some say she died of a

broken heart. You should read that book – the one the American wrote. You

remember him, Tom? Said he was a professor, had a link with the Rosmerryns,

so he reckoned. Anyways, he did write a book. Called it “The Curse of the


“Why “The Curse”?”

“Because the entire lot came to a sticky end, that’s why. They were a ripe

mob, you know. Father down to son, to daughter. Only good ‘un was the

mother and she was dead before her time too. You should look it up in the

library. What was his name … foreign sounding , it was. French or something”.

Then with a bright grin, Dave turned to Liam. “Hey, skipper, how about coming

out with us tonight. I’ll show you how to catch some mackerel – maybe some

sole and who knows what else. We’re leaving at midnight, to catch the tide.”

Liam hesitated then  suddenly laughed. ‘Why not.’

The Crest left as planned, on a clear moonlit night, and Sue watching

from the quay steps, laughed at the sight of Liam, in his oilskins, the fisherman.

Colin, however, decided the Canadian musician looked very much at home on

the boat. She was certain Liam had gone to get away from all the ‘ghost stuff’,

as he mockingly called it and she did not sleep well.

Waking at six she went to run a bath. Below she could hear Colin moving

about. Crossing back to her own room she paused. Leaning over the bannisters

she could hear muted voices below.  Colin WAS up to something!  The mens

voices droned on but she could not make out what they were saying. Some

instinct warned  her not to be caught eavesdropping and she  tiptoed away, but instead

of making for her bedroom, Sue opened the door to the storeroom.

In the soft light she saw the rumpled bed which had obviously been

recently slept in and felt the breeze coming from the open window.  Beside the

bed, on a small wooden table, stood a half burnt down candle. Candle!  Had the

electricity failed during the night?  Carelessly draped over the chair was a gown.

A gown of rich black satin, trimmed in soft black velvet. The silk slippers were tight

on her feet and turning she caught sight of her reflection in the darkened

window. Her nightgown had been replaced by a simple sheer silk and lace shift.

Fear increased as she realised she was unable to move. No matter how hard she

tried, nothing happened. She was paralysed, while outside voices, then footsteps,

came closer. Her heart thumped wildly as the men stopped outside the

door. Struggling to make her limbs obey her brain she washelpless, incapable of

moving a finger. While outside the door strange voices spoke strange words. They

talked of riding to Newquay and of the Troopers and a Judge tracking them. Fear

duelled with common sense.  Fear won, as she fought to release the sudden

paralysis only to have her feet  walk her back to the bed.

Then the door crashed back against the wall and in the shadows he stood tall

and broad. He wore the same beigecoloured shirt. A wide leather belt encircled his

waist, topping the tight fitting breeches which did little to disguise his virility. His face,

shadowed by the beard and the bad light, was hard to see yet she knew him. At

the same time, he bellowed: WHAT IS THIS DOING IN MY ROOM?” while behind

him a man murmured nervously. “Good’s blood, Cap’n, keep yer voice down.

Would ye be wanting the customs men to find ye here.  I had to put her

 someplace. She came alooking for ye. I had no choice”.

The Captain came fully into the room where she could see the vicious glint

in his eyes. “Good thinking, my friend. This one is best kept under an eye, and I

 reckon I can find some use for her until I leave”.  His coarse laughter sending a

chill through Sue. Stepping back, she stumbled onto the bed as he threw the

door shut with a crash, closing them in together.

The sharp thud of the door brought Sue back to her senses sprawling on a

crate by the window of the storeroom.  The bedroom had disappeared! Dazed,

she looked about, slowly staggering to her feet and making her way unsteadily to

the bathroom where the water was perilously close to overspilling. Swiftly closing

the taps, she took her time confirming that she was indeed wearing the cotton

nightgown before she stepped out of it to sink down into the hot, soothing


Closing her eyes, she let the tears come. “I am going crazy …”

Sitting alone by the window overlooking the sea, Sue sipped at her black

coffee, only half aware of the general chatter in the Fishermens Rest.  Open as

usual for breakfast trade among the fishermen, it remained local custom for the

fishermen who were not out at sea to congregate in the stone and beamed tap

room, as they had done in those long ago days when Portmerryn was a thriving

yet infamous smugglers port of call. Now, in the twentieth first century, the

smugglers were no longer but the fishermen remained, with their giant size

mugs of tea, to eat a hearty breakfast and discuss the current prices of fish, or

just to swap tales of a catch, and this morning was no exception.  But their

good humoured chatter did little to ease the anxiety caused by Sue’s latest

experience – one she dare not confide to anyone.

In her mind Sue saw again the bearded stranger in the bedroom version

of the Peverells store room and shivered.

Tom limped in, calling out his cheery greeting to everybody and seeing Sue he

came unevenly towards her. “Shall I join you, me lover, or you waiting for the


“Captain?” Her voice sounded unnatural, her look startled.

The old man positioned himself comfortably. “That lad of yours wears the look of

the sea natural like. Seems to me he should be on a ship somewhere”.

“He is”. Sue was unnaturally brisk and he eyed her shrewdly while she

explained. “He went out with the Crest last night”. Tom settled himself more

comfortably, grinning while puffing on his pipe “And you feel his absence”.

“I do not!” Sue’s indignation amused him and he chuckled. But she

leaned towards him. “Tom, do you know much about this place? ”

“The Rest?”

“Is it very old?”

He nodded “More then three hundred years. Maybe more.”

She lowered her head, concentrating on her coffee. “How about the upstairs

rooms  …”

Tom sat back ” One time it was a stage rest. In the old times, stagecoaches

would come by and change horses here before continuing their journey. In those

days all the rooms were let to coach passengers.  The stables were back of the

building then. Its gone now.  Used to be where you park your car”.

Her interest glittered in her eyes. “Must have been very exciting around here in

those days. All types of folk coming and going; staying at the Inn?”

Tom puffed on his pipe a few times. “Years back the Rest was sold to some London

gent. He never came here. Then he sold it to some property tycoon who came to look it

over. Reckoned it would make a fine amusement club.  Peverell heard about it and

fought for it.  He finally bought it. Reopened it as the original Fishermens Rest. For the

first time in years, the Inn was back to what it used to be in the beginning.’

“Tom”. Sue turned to the old man. “Did anything particularly sensational

happen here.?”

He grinned at her “Not lately”.


He frowned into his memories. “Stories have gilded its history for years. Once it

was said to be a smugglers hide-out. A very long time ago”.

Sue heard again those strange voices outside what was now the Storeroom.

Tom was smiling. “You keep nosing about, my lover, and you’ll know enough to

write a book yourself”.

Later, Sue set out to find the Lewis’s. She had not walked far when a

small van pulled in ahead of her. The driver was a young man, in his late teens,

with a tanned face and intense dark eyes. His black hair tumbled over his eyes

as he pulled the door closed on her. “Where you heading?”

“Do you know the Lewis farm?”

“Going right by their gate”.

He glanced at her. “On holiday?”

There was a sly look about the boy and Sue, generally open and friendly, felt ill

at ease in his presence.     “You live locally?”

“We’ve a farm about three mile back there.  Name’s Owen.”

He dropped her at the end of a lane, pointing in the general direction of

the Lewis farm and she was unreasonably relieved when  the van drove off.

Walking along the tiny lane, she put the driver, from her mind but after

ten minutes began to worry that he had dropped her off at the wrong place.

There was no sign of a farmhouse. Crossing a dust road and some cattle grids

she walked beyond the bend then through the trees ahead caught sight of a

small stone cottage. Her steps quickened until out of the sunny stillness she

heard  a yell . A man was waving, striding towards her. He was carrying a

massive basket of freshly trimmed flowers. “Got yourself lost?”.

“I hope not” Sue smiled.  “Are you Richard Lewis?”

He was in his early forties, of medium height, with sandy- brown crisp hair,

slightly greying. Surprised, he nodded. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

“I’m staying at Portmerryn and  I’m assured you are the local authority on the

Rosmerryns”  Still smiling, Sue offered her hand. “I’ve read the Guide Book. It’s

fascinating. I’m Sue Graham”.

Richard Lewis was smiling, his hand grubby with earth, clasping hers. “Come in,

Sue Graham. Sal’ll be back soon ”

Richard Lewis stood before her.  “What brings you to Portmerryn?”

“I followed my nose” she admitted, asking “And you?”.

” We were on holiday and took a wrong turn. Never wanted to leave. It

took us a while to get accepted but I think they like us now”. Turning from the

window, he smiled. “Here’s Sally. My wife is blind but she’s perfectly capable, as

you’ll see. I didn’t want you to feel awkward when suddenly confronted with

Sally’s blindness.  Some people behave very strangely, you know”.

The pretty dark haired woman, holding to the steel framed harness on

the black Labrador, and wearing a cotton smock over dusty jeans, entered the

cottage and  paused immediately. “We have a visitor?”

“Darling, come and meet Sue Graham”.

Sue’s astonishment increased as Sally Lewis crossed the room easily, weaving

her way through the furniture to where Sue was standing.

“I’ve dropped by without invitation. I hope you don’t mind”.

“We don’t get too many visitors, which is entirely our own fault. We

insulted all our city friends when we first moved here because they could not see

what we saw. Now they never visit us” Sally Lewis gave a merry little laugh,

reaching back to find her husband’s hand. They sat on the sofa opposite their

visitor. “Where are you from, Sue?”

“I’ve been living in Canada for several years”

Sally fired question after question and Sue found herself smiling across at

Richard. He wrinkled his nose in a satisfied grin.

“I was telling your husband, I’m fascinated by the Rosmerryns”.

Sally half turned towards her husband. “Richard had planned to write a

book about the Rosmerryns once but had to give up.”

“That’s a pity. I was hoping to read it”.

When Richard suggested coffee, Sally stood up. “I’ll get it. Excuse me, Sue”

Sue exclaimed. “She is incredible”.

“Yes, she is” he agreed “Especially as it has only been a mere four years

since the accident”

“What happened?” .

“She was walking on the cliffs and fell. We live in constant hope that all

the doctors and specialists are wrong and wait for the miracle they tell us to

forget about.  Apparently, Sally is something of a medical mystery.”

Sensing Sue’s compassion he continued. “We’d only been here a few

months. Everything had been going so well until that day. But as you can see,

she adapted marvellously. Now it is as though she sees as well as you and I.

We have the farm, she works right alongside me.”

Sally was returning carrying a loaded tray. “Richard, be a dear and take this.”

Then to Sue: “You sound lovely.  Is she, Richard?”

“Stunning” he teased taking the tray and placing it carefully on the table beside

Sue.  “She has a mane of gorgeous blonde hair, and I bet naturally curly, and big

green eyes. Magnificent eyes, Sal’.” Glibly ignoring Sue’s wriggle of

embarrassment, he continued. “And she’s wearing jeans and a shirt. Pretty floral

print shirt. …” and looking up, stopped pouring the coffee, to wink at Sue.” …

she’s probably a few years younger then you but I dare not ask, and right now

she looks about to explode”.

“Your husband, is a great tease”

Sally smiled gently “Would you care for some cake. Home made.  Richard’s quite a dab

hand in the kitchen”.When they pressed her to stay to lunch Sue declined, not wanting

to outstay her welcome.

“What rot.” argued Richard, taking more cake.

“Another time.  I’ll bring Liam, if I may”.

“Liam?” Sally’s head lifted, her sightless eyes wide. Sue waited but Sally merely said.

“Liam.  That’s a nice name”.

Richard interrupted. “This is our number. Give us a call”. Keeping her eyes on the

small white card, Sue asked. “Did you ever see a painting, or a drawing, of the

Manor House?”

“Once I did. There was a pen sketch in a book I loaned from Truro library

when I was researching mine.  Why d’you ask?”

“I dreamt … I had a dream once …  “.

Sally’s voice seemed unsteady. “Describe it, Sue”.

Had she stayed too long, worried Sue.  But the blind girl pressed her. “Please –

describe it”

“It was beautiful. A white, sparkling palace of a place. Twin pointed

towers.  Masses of flowers and shrubs and over the main entrance, the main

door, was a carving; a crest, I think …”

Sally whispered. “That’s uncanny”. Richard was laughing. “You must have sixth

sense. You better help me with my book”

It was past one as she approached the village. Sue’s disjointed thoughts

returned to the Lewis’s. Because she had been correct about the Towers she was

afraid, and she had lied to the Lewis’. She had not dreamt it. The Towers had

appeared to her in a flash of illusion, in the middle of the day!

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