Wheeling Gull Isle seifas

miseria nodded slowly as father bartholomew spoke. she pawed the ground.
a pregnant pause.
"do you think ... that i could learn about god too? on the isle." she asked softly, looking up at bartholomew with rheumy eyes. a home, peace, a desperate need for counseling.
miseria lacked a definitive personality between shrewd and miserable. she had lacked skills. maybe sweetharbor could cultivate her like a flower.