A woman in a habit stepped into an empty bedroom. Her face was round, plump, and creased with wrinkles though she wasn’t old. Her eyes were sharp behind the round lenses of her glasses. She had her hands clasped before her, as if in silent prayer. Despite the sign above the door that сказал(-а) MIND YOUR HEADS, she did not falter. She was so short, things like that did not apply to her.
This was Mother Helena.
Following her was a man, tall and thin. He, unlike her, had to stoop and managed to do so just in time. He moved with slightly jerky movements and had a bizarre-looking goatee. His hair was...