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The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. The Storm. Suddenly she understood. . ’ He reddened a little, and shuffled his feet. " "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone.

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