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Subject: {ASSM} Anne {Libertine} (MF bdsm nc no sex fetish)
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"Anne"
   by Libertine


Melting snow mixed with her tears as Thomas said his last words
to Anne. "My dear, you are in the best possible hands. For as
long as you live, my bank will send money for your maintenance.
You will be well cared for. The Aston Asylum is one of the finest
and most progressive in all of Britain. Dr. Aston is both a
doctor of divinity and a physician, a noted alienist who assures
me you will have the best treatments known to medical science.
Good bye, now. Most probably we will never see each other again,
but rest assured that I will always have a place for you in my
heart." With that, the door closed, and Matron led Anne toward
the women's wing.

Anne was the only child of The Reverend Evan Jones and his wife.
As a non-conformist, not Church of England, and a displaced
Welshman, pastor to a small flock in the north of England, Rev.
Jones never had much money, but his family never lacked for the
necessities nor felt a need for luxuries. Anne was an intelligent
and attractive child, with lively eyes and auburn hair, but she
had a speech impediment, a stammer, which exposed her to
ridicule. Her parents schooled her at home and discouraged her
playing with others. When she was eighteen, she began her monthly
periods, as was common in those days, when girls matured more
slowly. Her parents arranged a marriage to a lawyer, Thomas
Marlow, Esq., an ambitious solicitor in Newcastle. They were
married in her father's church, and, as Thomas took Anne to
Newcastle, the Rev. Jones and his wife departed England to bring
the Gospel to the heathens of Africa.

The wedding night: Thomas, overcome by lust for her pale,
delicate body, ravished the virgin Anne without those gentle
preliminaries which might have prepared her for conjugal
coupling. In the morning, she communicated to him how painful and
distasteful the experience had been, on her part. Her husband's
reaction was to declare that he would never again visit her bed,
or even her bedroom. She was forbidden to leave the house or to
entertain friends in the house. He rarely spoke to her, but she
became aware that he was slaking his lust with women in the city
and even, on occasion, with one of the servant girls in Anne's
own house. She knew not what to say about that, so she said
nothing.

Over the course of several months, Anne grew more quiet and more
melancholy. She lost weight, and her menses stopped. It was
almost as if she were regressing, going back into her childhood
as a recluse. Thomas and Anne's mother-in-law, along with the
family doctor, as required by law since 1774, testified before a
justice of the peace, who then issued an order of commitment.
Anne was legally judged to be hysterically insane by a man she
had never seen.

The Aston Asylum for the Insane was a big brick building in the
Regency style, out of place and isolated in the Yorkshire dales.
Apart from the outbuildings and gardens of the asylum, the only
sign of human habitation that Anne could see was the distant
ruins of a castle which had once belonged to Richard III. Snow
covered the ground and swirled around the building, as the wind
moaned in the fireless chimneys. Matron, an older women in charge
of the female patients and staff, led Anne to a small room, a
cell, lit only by the gray light which filtered through a high,
narrow window. Anne hugged herself against the chill and waited.
She was aware of other inmates, though she could not see them.
They were locked in their cells. Most were silent. One sang a
bawdy song. Anne did not even understand some of the words. There
was an undercurrent of moaning, and an occasional scream or
shriek. Anne realized that, for practical purposes, she was no
longer Thomas Marlow's wife. Few would know that he had even been
married; fewer would remember Anne, and perhaps no one would know
that she was still alive. Thomas might even remarry. She had no
one, no friend, no husband, no contact with her parents, who
might well be dead by now, murdered by savages in the jungles of
Africa. Why had God made her, if her life had no meaning?

At last the bolt shot back and Matron entered, carrying a candle
and followed by two men. The elder, with white hair, dressed in
black clerical garb, introduced himself.  "I am Doctor Aston, and
I am here to help you, Mrs. Marlow." He gestured at the younger
man, also clad in black, but without the clerical collar, a
handsome fellow only a few years older than Anne. "This is Doctor
Wilson, my assistant. First, we must examine you. Tomorrow, we
can begin with the standard treatments for your mental illness.
Very often, we are successful in effecting a cure, and the
patient can return home, so I do hope you will cheerfully
cooperate with your treatment."

Matron took Anne's wrap and then began to unbutton the back of
her dress. Anne simply stood there, until Matron began to pull
the long sleeves over Anne's hands, causing the bodice to fall
away. "N-n-n-n", Anne stammered, trying to protest, but Matron
continued to undress her, removing her dress and folding it, then
removing the blouse and underskirts, until she was down to Anne's
whalebone-stayed corsets, which confined Anne's waist and
accentuated her hips. The doctors looked on approvingly. Matron's
busy fingers made quick work of the laces, and the stiff garment
fell away, leaving Anne standing there in only her thin muslin
shift and her shoes.

"Off with the shoes." said Matron. Anne bent awkwardly to remove
her shoes, acutely conscious of her near nudity. "Now the shift.
Come on!" Reluctantly, Anne lifted her last garment over her
head, exposing her private cleft to the sight of the men, and
then exposing her girlish breasts. The chill of the room gave her
gooseflesh and made her nipples stand out. She tried to cover
herself with her hands, but Matron seized Anne's arms and easily
held them behind her, elbows nearly touching, leaving Anne
totally exposed.

Tears glistened on Anne's cheeks as she tried to protest.
"P-ppplease! I-I-I n-n-n-"

Dr. Aston took one of Anne's wrists and felt her pulse. "Now,
young woman, you must cooperate with your physicians. Have you
never had a medical examination before"

"N-n-n-no."

Dr. Wilson took her other wrist and felt for the pulse, while Dr.
Aston placed a rolled up paper above Anne's bosom and said,
"Breathe deeply." With his ear to the paper tube he listened to
her chest, and then her back. "All clear." he said, "She seems to
be physically healthy." When they released her, Anne again tried
to cover herself with her hands and stood there, shivering in the
cold. Matron handed her a gray wool garment, cut like a chemise,
to cover Anne's' nakedness, and Dr. Aston remarked, "Yes, she's a
bit thin, but I see no reason why we can't begin treatment
tomorrow."

Then he turned to Dr. Wilson and spoke in Latin. "Mental
illness." he said, "has two components, one physical, one moral.
First, we treat the physical ailments. Her previous doctor
diagnosed chronic melancholia, a hysterical malady common in
women. Her bodily humours are out of harmony.  Matron will see to
that, with purges and clysters. I'll tell Matron to try to fatten
her up a bit, and see that she gets plenty of exercise. The moral
component is more difficult to reach, but there are many well
known treatments, to focus her mental processes on that which is
good. The standard treatments, whippings, cold water baths,
blistering poultices, and physical confinement, the same
treatments used on our late king, during his madness, tend to
focus the attention of the patient on the present, pushing into
the background memories of earlier experiences which, perhaps,
precipitated the madness. We have here some new instruments of
treatment, invented in America by a Doctor Rush. The objective is
to so disorient the patient that he or she takes on the
temperament of a cow or sheep, contentedly living in the present,
with little concern for the past or anxiety for the future. In
this patient's case, we will hope to see a time when the illness
which prevents her speech is cured, and she can progress to
normal human verbal intercourse, which is, of course, one of
activities which distinguishes the human from the beast. "

Noting the expression on Anne's face, Dr. Aston resumed speaking
English. "Do not fear, Mrs. Marlow. You may have heard of the
horrors of the Bedlam madhouse, but you have nothing to fear of
that sort here. We do not use branding irons to drive out demons.
This is the Nineteenth Century. We do not believe in witches and
demons. Patients such as yourself are not possessed. They are
ill, and in many cases they can be cured."

The doctors departed, and Matron followed with the candle and
Anne's clothes, bolting the door, leaving Anne alone in her cell,
which was furnished with only a bed and a chamber pot. The
mattress was straw in a bag of ticking, and it was covered by
smelly woolen blankets.  There was no fire to warm the place, and
the winter chill, the ice-cold bricks of her cell, made sleep
very difficult.

When Anne did fall asleep, she had nightmares which, fortunately,
she remembered very little of. One involved a man. Was it Thomas
or Dr. Wilson...? Sticking his thing between her legs; she woke
screaming. Morning was signified by an increase in the general
level of noise and by a faint light through a slit-like window
high on the wall, where she could see nothing but a tiny patch of
sky. A panel at the bottom of the door slid open, and someone
slid a tray through the opening, before it closed again. On the
tray was a bowl of oatmeal, with a wooden spoon, a mug of tea, no
sugar or milk, and some bread which had been fried in bacon fat.
She ate and drank it all ravenously.

Too soon, the door opened, and two women, one no older than Anne,
the other her mother's age, ordered her out. Strangely, they were
dressed like nuns and had crosses on chains around their necks.
Anne had heard of "nursing sisters" but had never seen one, and
this was a private asylum, wasn't it? They half dragged Anne,
still clutching her blanket, through corridors and up stairs to a
room which had a "convenience chair" in the middle of the room,
conventional enough, like a box with a back and arms on it,
except that under the hole in the seat there was no chamber pot,
only a drain in the floor. The "sisters" took her blanket and
shift and sat the naked Anne on the chilly chair. They strapped
her in; one strap under her breasts and around the back of the
chair, straps for each arm, to the arms of the chair, and straps
around her ankles to the legs of the chair. A servant girl
brought a tray with several mugs on it, and the "nurses" forced
Anne to drink. The first contained a hot, herbal tea, rather
bitter. A second mug contained a vile tasting oil, which Anne
could hardly drink without retching. The third was more tea. By
this time, Anne felt bloated and had to struggle to comply with
the orders to drink. They draped her blanket over her, for she
was shivering, and left her alone.

Anne waited, wondering if she would ever be warm again and
anxious at being naked under the blanket. Even on her wedding
night, she had never been naked in the presence of other people,
yet here they assumed she had no modesty at all. Time passed
slowly; she had no way to know how much time. The bloated feeling
in her stomach subsided, but it was replaced by painful cramps in
her bowels. The sensations spread through her belly, the pain
making her sweat, even in the freezing cold. A "sister", one Anne
hadn't seen, came in and forced her to drink another mug of
liquid. The sister stood, silently, and watched as Anne squirmed
in her restraining straps and made faces as waves of pain
reflected through her abdomen. Then, quite involuntarily, Anne's
little hole in back (no one had ever given her a polite name for
it) opened and spewed smelly, mostly liquid matter from her
bowels. Anne watched the sister, who was watching her, and felt
so embarrassed. The sister waited until most of the splashing
noises had subsided and then forced Anne to drink yet another mug
of now-tepid brew.

This torment continued, Anne reckoned, all morning, for at one
point she was given some bread and cheese to eat, a noon meal,
she supposed. By that time, the pain had largely subsided; the
gurgles and cramps and showers of bodily waste were only
sporadic. Still, they kept her strapped on the commode, straining
to expel the contents of her belly. Then Matron came in, followed
by the two morning nurses who carried a bucket and a strange
machine. The machine was a metal cylinder with a handle on one
end and a conical extension on the other. Matron put the tapered
end into the bucket and pulled on the handle, which sucked quarts
of steaming liquid into the cylinder. Needing no orders, the
nurses whipped the blanket off Anne and pivoted the chair
forward, off the box, so Anne found herself staring at the floor,
supported by the strap beneath her breasts. She struggled for
breath as Matron pressed hot metal against Anne's shitter hole
and forced hot liquid into her bowels. Anne felt as if some wild
animal was inside her, struggling to get out, stretching her
tortured bowels.

"Hold it in!" ordered Matron, as she removed the metal device and
the nurses lowered the seat, returning Anne to an upright
position. "Hold it in as long as you can. Hold it." Anne
couldn't. Quarts of almost scalding water jetted from her bottom
into the drain in the floor. The nurses again tipped the chair,
and Matron again injected quarts of seething fluid, and again the
chair was returned to its upright position until Anne had emptied
her bowels as best she could. Seven times they did that, until
the bucket was empty and Anne felt exhausted. Matron took a
greased ebony object and pushed it into Anne's unresisting hole,
where it stayed, preventing the normal closure. "We can't have
you leaking on the floor, Mrs. Marlow." said Matron as she wiped
her hands and went to the door. "Take her down for exercise." she
called over her shoulder as she left.

Barefoot on the freezing floor, with only her inadequate shift
and blanket, Anne was taken to a subterranean room, lighted only
by smoky lamps burning suet. There was a rotating mysterious
machine, like the water wheel of a mill, except the buckets were
replaced by bars, like the rungs of a ladder. Three naked women
climbed the rungs of the giant wheel, turning it, sweating even
in the cold of the basement room. A female staff member, not a
nurse, judging from her garb, sat supervising with a whip in her
hand! Stripped naked again, Anne was made to take the place of
one of the women, who rested and caught her breath. Distracted by
the nudity, tormented by the unfamiliar plug in her bottom, Anne
worked hard to climb the rungs of the wheel, holding on to a
horizontal bar. If she did not climb fast enough, if her arms
extended too far or she let go of the bar, the supervisor would
crack her whip in warning. The rungs hurt the arches of her feet
(she had not yet learned to balance on the balls of her feet) and
she panted for breath as sweat drenched her. She was ready to
die, she thought, when it was her turn to rest. This torment
continued for the balance of the afternoon until, aching all over
from overworked muscles, Anne and the others were allowed to
stop. The women put on their simple dresses, and Anne wrapped
herself in her blanket, as the supervisor marched them back
upstairs to their cells. "No talking." she barked, cracking her
whip, when Anne tried to ask a question.

Anne was huddled in her blanket on the bed in her cell when
Matron appeared. "P-p-p-p-please." said Anne, pointing to her
bottom.

"The plug should stay in." replied Matron. "You will have daily
treatments until the toxins have been flushed from your body."

The evening meal in her cell, was boiled potatoes in milk, with
some dried apple slices for dessert. Later, Dr. Aston visited
her. "Well, Mrs. Marlow, are you feeling better yet?"

"N-n-n-no." replied Anne, shaking her head.

"No? Well, you soon will feel better, once the poisons have been
purged from your body and you respond to the benefits of good
diet and exercise. I'll look in on you again tomorrow."

Exhausted, Anne slept more soundly than before. The next day was
exactly like the first, except that Anne's bum hole had been
stretched, and it was harder to hold in the scalding fluid that
Matron injected, so the plug was used to contain the scalding
liquid inside her until Matron judged it time to expel the
contents of her rectum. Later, her muscles screamed in pain as
she "exercised" on the treadmill wheel. The evening meal of
potatoes and milk was supplemented with boiled cabbage and an
ounce or so of boiled meat, mostly fat. Apparently the order to
fatten her up was taken seriously, for she was allowed second
portions when she asked for them.

For three more days she spewed her guts, though at least Matron
removed the anal plug before Anne labored on the treadmill. Then
it was Sunday, a day of rest.  The women were issued proper
dresses (but no corsets or hats or shoes) and taken to a chapel
for Church of England services, conducted by Dr. Aston. Anne, of
course, had never been confirmed in the Anglican Catholic Church,
so she was unable to take communion, but it was a comfort for her
to again experience the sense of community that comes from
sharing a religious service with other people. There were, she
estimated, about twenty women, ranging in age from perhaps
sixteen to very old, fifty or sixty. Two were restrained by
strait jackets, and some tended to look distracted and to talk to
themselves, but it was, just the same, a Christian service.

Monday, after breakfast, she did not have to drink the purgative
brews, and there were only three applications of the clyster, so
it was still morning when, denied even her simple dress, she was
led, wrapped in her blanket, outdoors, into a walled yard, some
sort of forecourt for the stables.  She saw the sun for the first
time since  her arrival, though the sun was a weak white spot in
the overcast sky. She looked around and saw faces in the windows
of both the mens and womens wings. The snow was cold on her bare
feet, and the blanket was inadequate to keep her warm. They led
her to a kind of marble table and, to her horror, took away her
blanket. Anne wailed at her situation, naked, exposed to both the
chill wind of winter and the gaze of strangers.  Quickly, the
nurses forced Anne to lie face down on the stone slab, and they
strapped her ankles to one end and her wrists to the other. The
cold stone, like a horizontal grave stone, pressed against her
thighs, her belly, her breasts. She was helpless to raise off the
freezing table as they stretched her as tautly, She might have
been on a medieval rack. Her teeth chattered as the warmth
drained from her body by the cold, smooth marble. Then, to
accentuate the torment, the nurses drenched her with buckets of
icy water.

Anne gritted her teeth and tried to bear the searing cold. She
could not move, not even shiver, tied as tightly as she was, but
her lips fluttered and her teeth chattered. Never had she been so
cold. As the minutes passed, her mind became confused and her
body numb. She knew that death by freezing was a real
possibility, and she tried to pray, though no intelligible sound
escaped her lips.

Just as she felt life slipping away, a new pain tormented her. In
her befuddled mental state, she had not noticed when two men
approached her, carrying bundles of birch twigs. Now,
systematically, the two simultaneously whipped her back and
buttocks and legs with the birches, as if flogging a criminal.
The pain restored life to her frozen body, brought screams from
her blue lips, until she could bear no more and fainted.

Anne awoke in a tub of hot water, her teeth still chattering,
even as her skin turned red like a lobster. Dr. Aston and Dr.
Wilson stood beside the tub, watching as she was brought back to
life. At last the chill was gone and the heat became oppressive.
Anne tried to raise herself from the tub, but Matron pressed her
back down. "That's all right, Matron. Let her get out. There is
no need to prolong her discomfort. Dry her off with soft towels. 
My, the birching left some nasty welts...and give her back her
dress and blanket. Give her an extra blanket, too, and let her
recover in her cell until dinner."

The following day, Anne was subjected to the American chair,
which Dr. Aston and two nurses demonstrated for Dr. Wilson.
First, Anne was strapped into a strait jacket, a kind of canvas
coat with closed sleeves. First, the waist was constricted, like
a corset, until Anne could hardly breathe. Then the arms of the
coat were crossed beneath her breasts and fastened together
behind her, so her arms were tightly hugging herself and were
entirely immovable. They seated her in a chair which could pivot
around a horizontal axis. They strapped her in, with belts around
over her breast, around her waist, and across her lap. To test
the bindings, they rotated the chair forward in a half circle, so
Anne was upside down, and then tipped it backward in a complete
circle, until Anne was once again upright. A wooden box was
placed enclosing her head, so she could breathe but could not see
her surroundings. She felt the chair, with her in it, lifted, and
they attached it to a turntable which could rotate around a
vertical axis, propelled by a crank and connecting rod to a tall
lever.

Anne, of course, could not see what was happening to her, but
Matron signaled to a nurse who leaned on the lever. As the lever
moved forward, the chair rotated a half turn, and pulling back on
the lever completed the turn. After a few turns, the lever moved
smoothly back and forth, as if the nurse were churning butter,
and the chair rotated smoothly at a constant rate. Anne, of
course was conscious of spinning, but that was nothing terribly
unfamiliar. As a child, she had enjoyed whirling on her toes
until, dizzy, she collapsed on the floor laughing. This was
similar, except that she could not stop when she wished.

The chair slowed, and Matron removed the box from her head. "See
the nystagmus, the twitching of the eyes."

"Yes, she must be very dizzy."

The box was replaced, and the rotation resumed. However, when it
had reached a steady speed, the chair was suddenly rotated around
the horizontal axis, so Anne was facing downward. The result was
instant mal de mer, intense nausea and retching, though Anne had
nothing in her stomach to throw up. She made incoherent noises
like an animal in a trap, but the multi-axis spinning continued
until she was, almost, driven to a true insanity.

The chair was stopped and the box removed. "Mrs. Marlow, can you
hear me?"

"Ullk! Awrgh! Ak."

"Take her back to the women's ward. Don't leave her alone, lest
she choke on her tongue."

Back in the common room, the nurses were distracted by some sort
of emergency, and Anne, still in the strait jacket and unable to
stand, was left on the floor. Slowly, Anne regained her senses.

"Eh, it's the new girl."

"What's yer name?"

"Ah, ah, ah..."

"Oi, she ain't got a name!"

"Shame she can't even stand. Let's have some fun with her."
Someone kicked her hip. "Stand her up and let's see wot she's
made of."

"Let's make 'er ride the horse."

"Yes, the horse." They stood Anne on her feet and lifted her
skirt, so as to examine her womanly parts. Someone brought out a
blanket and rolled it into a thick rope. They passed the rope
between her legs and raised the ends, until Anne's weight was
supported by the blanket and her feet left the floor. Three women
held each end of the rope, and they started a sort of tug of war
with it, pulling it up and down, back and forth, while two other
women steadied the helpless Anne so she would not fall off "the
horse".

"N,n,n,n,noooo!" she protested, as the wooly blanket was forced
upward, parting her labia and rubbing intensely on places Anne
had never touched. N,n,n,nahhh."

Laughing, the inmates continued, forcing the helpless Anne to
ride the bucking "horse." In time Anne's protests stopped. Then
she began to giggle. "At's it. Keep it going."

Anne's giggles became louder and more continuous, until she was
laughing and choking. "Oh, God!" she screamed. Instantly, the
women dropped the blanket and scattered, trying to hide in their
cells or elsewhere. Anne lay on the floor, her skirt around her
waist, the rolled blanket still between her legs, her breasts
heaving as the constricting strait jacket was making it difficult
to breathe.

"Mrs. Marlow, are you all right?" asked the newly arrived Dr.
Wilson. Anne could only gasp. "Is this woman having a fit?" he
asked the cowering inmates, who obviously were afraid of
punishment for simply having a bit of fun with Anne. No one
wanted to speak. Dr. Wilson knelt beside Anne and deftly undid
the buckles and ties which held her confined in the canvas
jacket. As soon as she could, she scuttled away from him, pulling
down her skirt and trying to cover her shamefully exposed
genitals. "Mrs. Marlow, are you all right? I thought I heard you
exclaim,'Oh God'."

"Uh!"

"Someone fetch Matron. I fear Mrs. Marlow has gone quite mad. I
never did trust those Americans."

Anne managed to sit up, and she looked at Dr. Wilson with new
insight. "Dr. Wilson." she said in Latin, "I am quite as sane as
you are."

"Did you just speak to me in Latin?"

"Yes."

"But you can't even speak English."

"I am a clergyman's daughter." she said in passable Latin, "and
reasonably well educated." she added in Greek. "Since childhood."
she continued, reverting to Latin, "I have had a speech
impediment which makes it difficult for me to express myself in
my native tongue. However, I can sing in Italian or French, and
speak Latin, Greek, and a bit of Hebrew and Icelandic, for those
tongues, so foreign to me, apparently reside in portions of my
psyche which do not share the impediment in my native speech."

"Oh, God." said Dr. Wilson. "And you were laughing. The
melancholia is cured?"

"I think so, learned physician."

"So the chair of Dr. Rush was an effective treatment, in spite of
my doubts?" He was speaking Latin, now, and the watching inmates
of the asylum were completely perplexed.

"No, the chair is an abomination. The cure came from my sister
inmates, all, supposedly insane. The order of commitment, it said
I suffered from hysteria, did it not?"

"Yes."

"And 'hysteria', from the Greek, is a state of mental aberration
attributed to the female organ, the womb."

"Yes, that is the commonly held hypothesis."

"These women, by making me ride the horse, as they put it, must
have adjusted my womb, and cured my melancholy, for I felt a
euphoria such as I have never before experienced, and you heard
me laugh. As further evidence, I believe a quantity of fluid
exuded from my female orifice. Perhaps a congestion of the womb,
and an impounding of natural fluids, was, in fact, the cause of
my condition."

"Amazing. Please come with me, Mrs. Marlow. We must inform Dr.
Aston."

Some days later, Dr. Aston approached Anne. Anne was dressed in
the same clothes as she had worn when she arrived at Aston
Asylum, and she was housed in a cosy room in the central,
administrative, portion of the building, a room with a feather
bed and a cosy hearth. She had been working closely with Dr.
Wilson, and they had repeatedly demonstrated that a new
treatment, involving pressure and friction between the lower
limbs, was, indeed, effective in adjusting the condition of the
womb and raising the spirits of female patients. Further, they
had shown that the clyster, irrigating the bowels, was
misapplied. A stream of tepid water, applied instead to the
regions of the forward orifice, was also effective in
revitalizing a congested womb. Several women, not just Anne,
testified to being able to feel the paroxysms of the womb and the
releasing of fluids, with a resulting general improvement in
temperament. "I have been in communication with your husband, and
he says he does not want you released to his custody. In fact, he
says you are not properly his wife. He is seeking an annulment,
claiming you were never properly married and that, in any event,
the marriage was never actually consummated and was therefore
invalid. He intends, I gather, to remarry as soon as possible. He
says, however, that the payments for your maintenance here will
continue as long as your live, and he prays that we will keep you
here."

"I suppose I should call you Miss Jones." said Dr. Wilson.

"Or Anne." she noted.

"If you would consent, Miss Jones." said Dr. Aston, "we would be
pleased to have you remain here on our staff. I shall be retiring
soon, and perhaps Matron, also. I'm sure Dr. Wilson would be
pleased to have you as an assistant."

"Yes, Miss Jones. Please stay. You have been invaluable to me."
Impulsively, he took her hand in his.

"Dr. Aston, Dr. Wilson." she replied, in fluent Latin, "As a
Christian, as one who strives to help the unfortunate, I shall be
happy to stay here and assist you in your research."


                         -- The End --


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