How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. “I’ve got—I have to tell you this to make myself clear—a streak of ardent animal in my composition. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. The will to live had returned.
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