The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. ’ Her eyes narrowed. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. For it was not a good thing to like one man too much when one was going to marry another. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. I—I hurt myself.
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