Against the proud outline of a menhir it repeatedly rose and fell, circling the stone and brushing caressingly against it, before moving off. At the foot of the megalith was a heap of blond gorse twigs, like a head of hair. The sole of a worm-eaten sabot came down on a corner of the printed page, which had landed again, with its headline in bold type: A reply by the Mayor of Guern to Hélène Jégado’s posthumous revelations. 26 March 1852 Sir, I was surprised and saddened to read in your newspaper the revelations made by Hélène Jégado in her final moments. She made a most serious accusation against someone in my village. I have had to gather every possible piece of information in order to discover whether or not these accusations were founded. I have questioned Émilie from whom Hélène Jégado claimed to have learned her fateful career as a poisoner. I am convinced, both by her replies and by information about this woman from elsewhere, that she would not be capable of that of which she is accused.
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