‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. “A ballot-box, you know,” he said, “is very largely just a box. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat. Her father was holding her waist, smiling.
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