’ ‘Oh, is he?’ Gerald said grimly. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. “Father,” she cried, “I have to live!” He misunderstood her. There are boats on the lake and shady depths and wildernesses of pine-wood. Loneliness. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed.
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