A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. He worked afternoons, when everybody else went to sleep; he worked at night under a heat-giving light, with insects buzzing and dropping about, with a blue haze of tobacco smoke that tried to get out and could not. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. The iron slipped from his face, leaving it blank with astonishment. Perhaps I'd better open it now. ‘As to that, I am a devil, say the nuns.
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