“I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. She twisted her fingers tightly. “You will not give Sir John any cause for jealousy? You will have no secrets from him except—concerning those things which are past?” “Anna, I swear it!” her sister sobbed. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. How the deuce did I ever manage to father such a brainless nincompoop? A nun, for God’s sake! A confounded Catholic nun.
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