There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added. I suppose I ought to have been a man. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. I make no apology for not being with you now.
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