And I understood grief. I didn't rush her. I let her cry until she was ready to speak again.Alison wandered back in the meantime, trying to look apolo...etic for running away as she watched us, the mule's eyes dark and liquid. I wasn't buying her contriteness and fixed her with a steady gaze.Finally, the nun's grief ran its course enough for her to speak. She pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket in her habit, wiping at her face. Crying hand transformed it into a frightful mess, her cheeks red,. I huffed out a gush of air, looking through the clouded glass and plastic at the young lady inside. Slim, long hair, nice legs wrapped up in thick tights. Even the cardigan didn't make her unappealing.I looked at the time again. Then I saw the odd movement inside the booth. The girl's skirt flicked a little and it looked like one hand was pushed under, moving rhythmically. Surely not! In broad daylight, and in such a public place. She wasn't talking on the phone, it was still on the hook. Her. More

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