Hi and welcome back to Nighty Night, bedtime stories to keep you awake. I'm your host, Rabyachadri.

And in this week's story, we are faced with the question of the wickedness of natural

human desire, and whether the devil really resides within us all.

The Devil in a Nunnery by Francis Oscar Mann

Buckingham is as pleasant a shire

as a man shall see on a seven days journey. Neither wasn't any less pleasant in the days of our lord,

King Edward, the third of that name, who fought and put the French to shameful discomforture

a crissé and Poitier, and at many another hard-fought field.

May God rest his soul, for he now sleeps in the great church at West Minister.

Buckinghamshire is full of smooth round hills and

woodlands of Hawthorne and Beach, and it is a famous country for its brooks and

shaded waterways running through the low hay meadows.

Upon its hills feed a thousand sheep, scattered like the remnants of the spring snow,

and it was from these that the merchants made themselves

fat purses, sending the wool into Flanders in exchange for silver crowds.

There were many strong castles there too, Enrich Abbey's, and the King's Highway ran through

it from north to south, upon which the pilgrims went in crowds to worship at the

shrine of the Blessed St. Alben. Thereon also rode noble knights and stout men at arms,

and these you could follow with the eye by their glistening

armor as they wound over hill and dale, mile after mile, with shining spears and shields and

fluttering penons, and a non a trumpet or two se- and The girls used to come to the cottage doors or run to hide themselves in the wayside woods to see them go trampling by.

For Buckinghamshire girls love a soldier above all men.

...