"Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Pah!’ She flounced about and, crossing to the bed, plonked down on it, pointedly averting her face and resting the large pistol in her lap. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. “I was sick of the make-believe.
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