CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. “Of course!” he said. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. May I come home and try to be a better daughter to you? “ANN VERONICA. The massive door was unlocked, and they entered the cell. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. . ‘Never trust a gun in female hands,’ grumbled Hilary, dropping the nun’s habit and backing to join his friend. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre.
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