She looked outside to see her guest chatting with Arlene. “Judith!” her neighbor called out. “Agnes has been telling me all about her years in the convent! Most intriguing—except for the nuns. I still have nightmares about them from my schooling at St. Radegunda’s. Did I ever tell you about their cure for bed-wetting?” “Uh . . . no,” Judith replied, trying not to stare at a dazed-looking Agnes. “I mean, you did, a long time ago, but I—” “Which,” Arlene went on, “is how Agnes saved a man from the gallows.” She took the other woman’s hand and beamed at her. “How brave you were, my dear!” Agnes apparently discovered that she still had vocal cords. “It wasn’t as dire as the gallows. It was only a six-month prison term. A case of mistaken identity. I was a legal secretary for several years before I got arthritis in my hands and had to quit. But while I was still able to work, I recall when I typed up the information about the defendant—” “Yes, of course,”
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