The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. "Why you wouldn't stand in the way of his good fortune surely? I'll be a second father to him, I tell you. I do not love you. “You are going to treat me as though I wasn’t. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. What was his transport on perceiving that a few yards above him a light was burning.
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