. ” Part 7 It was rather less than a week after that walk that Capes came and sat down beside Ann Veronica for their customary talk in the lunch hour. Darrell. She gurgled. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. ‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. He had not remembered her as looking so small. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance.
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