Three more people came to meet them at the door. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. ‘Thanks to him, Hilary and I nearly had our heads blown off.
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