” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. Wood again made his appearance in a more composed frame of mind, and, at his daughter's earnest solicitation, was induced to partake of some refreshment. After all, it is not long since that a Catholic nun in this country would have had to remain in hiding. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town.
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