’ Mrs Sindlesham sighed deeply. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. He would talk to Spurlock, but from the bench; as a judge, not as a chagrined lover. Even were she to get an opportunity to scream, it would be some time before such a call, unprecedented though it might be, brought the nuns so much out of their absorption that they interrupted their prayer to investigate. " And, with this, he coolly re-adjusted his peruke. On the morrow Spurlock (who was unaware that he had offered a prayer) let down the bars to his reserve. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. ‘Now then, missie.
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