‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. ‘Do not speak any more for you give yourself pain,’ said Melusine fearfully. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity.
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