I’ve been burdened with a terrible secret, and someone must know.
I was with her again last night, getting drinks, discussing Mary Queen of Scots. I guess I didn’t notice how many drinks she’d had, until she leaned over and grabbed my shoulders, and began whispering in my ear. “I have a secret.”
I steadied her and laughed, sure she was about to admit to sympathising with Henry Stuart, when she began the tale which now utterly haunts me.
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