The young man was sitting on one of the low beds, his hands held out in front of him. Abigail gasped despite herself, and even the Abbess seemed shock...d for a moment. The man’s hands were hideously blistered and burnt.“It was the blacksmith’s fire, Mother Clare,” said one of the men who had helped to bring in the injured boy. “He was reaching for a fresh brand, and he must have slipped. His hands went straight into the fire.”The Abbess at once took charge.“Hot water, ointment, and clean. I decided to try to bluff my way out of things.“Nothing,” I panted.“Why are you all red? Did you get sunburned today?”“I’m not all red,” I breathed.“You look like you’re on fire!” she argued.“Go away,” I said.“Kylie!” yelled Uncle Bob.His hands were just lying on my breasts. That wasn’t the idea. I tried to make his fingers play with my nipples.“Kylie! Get off!” growled Uncle Bob.“I don’t want to,” I whined.He had been moving. It was kind of spastic moving, with no discernible purpose, but now. More

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